Harry Potter and the Spirit Within
by Maven Cree
Summary: Harry gains an unexpected mentor and learns more about himself than he may have wanted to know. The secret to defeating Voldemort was there all along, will he find the strength to use it?. Cannon until Book 4.
1. Once More Into The Breech

Disclaimer: I don't even own a car.  Any characters or fictional locations previously mentioned in a Harry Potter book or accessory belong to (her majesty) J.K. Rowling.  Everything else belongs to reality or myself.

Summary: My first epic and first HP fic.  Fifth year.  While Sirius confronts his past, Harry gains an unexpected mentor and learns more about himself than he may have wanted to know.  The secret to defeating Voldemort was there all along; will he find the strength to use it? A secret Order.  Special training. And the Dursleys take things up a notch.  S/A, R/H

Rated: R (American 'R' which I believe is 'AA' here in Canada). Violence, child abuse, adult situations. – All the good stuff.

**Harry Potter and the Spirit Within**

**by Maven Cree aka Gates**

**Chapter One:  Once More Into The Breech**

Arabella Figg stood in front of the old gargoyle clenching and unclenching her fists.

This was the point of no return.  

She could have changed her mind at home. She could have changed her mind after she'd apparated into Hogsmeade.  She could have changed her mind as she walked to the massive castle known as Hogwarts.  And she could turn around now.  His letter had been very clear.  Unusually clear for Mr. Albus Dumbledore, who tended to favour the more cryptic side of things:

To Miss Arabella Figg,

Certain events in the past year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, have left certain key positions in our staff open.

I would like you to consider accepting the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for a tenure of at least one school year here at Hogwarts.  Your talents make you more than qualified.

I do not wish you to feel pressured to say yes .There are dark times ahead and this will be a strenuous assignment.  If you are not absolutely certain that you could go through with it, please feel free to turn this position down.

However, should you accept, I would consider it a personal favour.

Please owl me with your response as soon as possible.

(You **are** needed, Arabella, but not if your heart is not in it.)

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster, HSWW

Included with the parchment was a fiery golden-red feather.

Remus had already warned her that he might ask.  She'd been pleasantly surprised, and at the same time horrified to receive a letter from her old school-time friend.  She hadn't been in contact with the wizarding world for nearly fourteen years.  An owl bearing a role of parchment and pecking at her window six weeks earlier had been quite a site.  The letter had contained the usual pleasantries which pleased her, but had also contained one cipheric sentence which caused her to become physically ill:

Fawkes will be working again.

Had the letter been intercepted, a person might assume that Fawkes was a Wizard who had taken a job.  And for the precious few who did know that Fawkes was actually a Phoenix, they still might not understand the significance of the phrase.

The Order of the Phoenix was gathering again.   And that could only mean one thing.

Voldemort was back.

The Order had been re-established near the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts.  She, three of four boys known as the Marauders, Joseph Padden, Lily Evens and Thomas Privy had been the only students invited to join.  It was a surprise to all, but all accepted without question.  Fawkes had appeared to each of them, leaving them each one of his fiery coloured tail feathers.  It was the bird himself who chose the Order and he had never been wrong.

…At least, they _thought_ he hadn't.

They were given special permission by the Ministry of Magic to use magic outside of the school year as long as it was in the service of the Order, and as long only when an of age Witch or Wizard was present.  Under-aged Wizards were not normally permitted to use Magic outside of the school year (with the exception of self-defence), but Dumbledore had insisted, much to the pride of the students, that their talents were needed and could not wait another year.

That summer they had been taught things… curses, defences, charms, spells that they would have never learned in school, seventh year or no.  They were magics used under the direst of circumstances, and unfortunately, they needed to be used quite often.

Their seventh year was intense.  They not only were required to attend their regular classes with their fellow classmates, they were also given specialty classes and were increasingly called upon to go out in the world and defend people against Voldemort's Death Eaters.

They graduated.  Arabella received her Auror licence rather quickly due to her special school training and was recruited by the Ministry rather quickly.  She was one of their best and most respected.

And then James and Lily were killed.

And Voldemort disappeared.

And… _him_…

Two weeks later she left the Wizarding world for what she _thought_ would be forever.

And all she had to do was speak two little words and she was back in.

**…**

**…**

"Fluffy's Feet."

The large gargoyle smiled at her and slid to the side.  She stepped past it and up the winding stairs to a door that she rapped on lightly with her fist.

There was a slight rattling and the door opened revealing the kind face of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Arabella!  So glad you could make it.  We were beginning to worry that you might not show."

"My apologies, Professor.  Waxing nostalgic, I suppose.  It's been so long…"

"Perfectly understandable," he said waving off her apology with a smile.  He extended his hand to rest of the people present in his office.  "I believe you know everyone present."

Indeed, seated around the comfortable office were old friends, comrades and teachers.  The Order of the Phoenix was reborn, minus a few who would be missed... and one who would... not.

Of the former students, Joseph Padden had just disappeared one day.  Presumed dead.  Thomas Privey had been killed by Death Eaters shortly after Voldemort's fall.  James and Lilly Potter... dead.  Peter Petigrew... dead.   Sirius Black... murderer.

Remus Lupin smiled up at her from his seat.  Those unmistakably warm, but tired brown eyes of his twinkling.  Mundungus Fletcher stood and shook her hand.  She recognized her former transfiguration professor, Minerva McGonagall standing next to Dumbledore's desk.  Seated, a redheaded couple whom she remembered making things easier for her during the dark times, through their kindness and warmth.  Molly and Arthur Weasley.  And lastly... someone she hadn't expected... but his cold, unapproachable air was unmistakable.  Severus Snape was scowling in the corner farthest from Dumbledore's desk.

Arabella took one of two empty seats as Dumbledore approached his desk.  It was then that she noticed an extremely large black dog lying listlessly on the ground next to Lupin's chair.  Its head was down and its tail lifelessly flopped from side to side as though it were anxiously awaiting something.

"Now then," Dumbledore began, "I would like to thank you all for coming.  I know that you have all gone on with your lives and had hoped to put all of this behind you, but I'm afraid that the Order of the Phoenix is once again needed.  And this time, we will be on our own.  The Ministry of Magic's official position is that Voldemort is still a horrible memory.  That any trouble resembling his former antics is the work of errant individuals.  Those cleared as Death Eaters remain in the clear and not suspect.  The guilty are safely stowed away in Azkaban.  The world is safe and we can all breathe easy... Fudge. Is. A. Fool."

Arabella was more than a little surprised at his words.  She had never known the Professor to openly belittle someone of such import.

The large dog on the floor gave a great huffing sigh.  Dumbledore looked down at him and smiled.

"Yes, and before I continue, I feel it is important that we all are aware of who our allies are.  Trust will be of paramount concern in the coming days, and I want you all to know that I trust each and everyone person present in this room, not only with my life, but with the future of Light Magic."

He stood taller and clapped his hands together.  "That being said, a certain disguise must now be lifted," he looked around the room.  "I would ask that you all remember my words and remain calm and patient.  I would also ask that what you see here today _remains_ the disclosure of the Order."

Arabella knitted her brow.  Disguise?  She recognized everyone there.  What disguise?

Snape!  It had to be Snape.  She knew Dumbledore never would have allowed that slimy git into the Order.  It must have been someone disguised to look like Snape.  Polyjuice Potion perhaps?

However, Dumbledore was not looking at Severus.  He was again watching the large dog.

"I believe that's your cue," he said.

The dog lifted its head and let out a small whine as it looked at the Headmaster with miserable eyes.

Dumbledore looked at the group before fixing his eyes again on the beast.

"I believe he's a little nervous," he explained.  "Perfectly understandable, but we really need to get this out of the way."

Remus playfully patted the animal on the head.  It let out another great huff and stood, carefully walking to Dumbledore's side.  It looked up at the Professor who nodded, then sat back on its hind legs.  There was a strange 'POP' sound and in an instant, where formally there had been a great dog, now stood a man.

Sirius Black.

Professor McGonagall let out a strangled gasp and Fletcher jumped to his feet, brandishing his wand.  Professor Dumbledore held up his hand.

"Now Mundungus, I asked you to be patient," he said.

"Patient?!  Headmaster, have you lost your mind?  This man is a murderer!  He killed James and Lilly and all those muggles!"

"He did no such thing, Mundungus, and if you will allow us to continue, we shall explain."

Mr. Fletcher mouthed wordlessly for a moment before re-taking his seat.  His wand however, remained at the ready.

Sirius remained at Dumbledore's side.  He looked rather pale and somewhat thinner than Arabella remembered.  He seemed to be finding a spot on top of Dumbledore's desk extremely interesting.

Arabella had watched him change.  Inside, part of her was screaming to jump up and stand at Mundungus's side.  But the greater part of her was frozen... In shock...  It couldn't be him, it just couldn't be.  After all these years... standing two metres away from her... It just couldn't be...

"Sirius has been done a great wrong.  He was sent to Azkaban without trial and without compassion.  Had he been given a trial the fact that he had been framed may have come to light."

"Framed?"  Arabella found her voice.  "I was there, Headmaster.  I saw him kill those muggles and poor Peter."

"You saw Peter yell," Dumbledore explained.  "You saw the street blow up.  And you saw that Sirius was the only person left standing."

"Exactly."

"What you did not see was the wand behind Peter's back.  You did not see Peter transform into a rat and scamper down into the sewers, because yes, like Sirius, Peter Petigrew is an illegal animagus."

The room fell completely silent.  Dumbledore waited until he was certain this information had sunk in, before quickly explaining the rest of the story.  The switch in the Potters' Secret Keeper.  Of Wormtail cutting off his own finger to add credibility.  Of his being adopted by the Weasley family.  And how Sirius's innocence was the only thing that had kept him sane all of those years in Azkaban.  Had he been guilty, he would have gone mad with the rest.

The man himself stayed oddly silent through the telling.  His gaze would travel from Remus Lupin to Professor Dumbledore, to nothing.  He would not meet the eyes of anyone else in the room.

"Now," Dumbledore said clapping his hands together. "Any further questions or commentary on this matter will have to be left for another time.  The students will be arriving in five days the rest of the Order, the Saturday following.  I think it best we get down to the business of the Order."

The others nodded solemnly but it was clear from their eyes that they felt there were definitely more questions that needed to be answered.

"There are dark times ahead," the Headmaster continued.  "I want to stress that anyone who does not fully wish to be here, or cannot fully commit themselves to the Order, now is the time to leave.  No ill will shall be set before you."

He paused and looked around the room.  No one made any move to leave.  Dumbledore smiled.

"As always, Fawkes has chosen wisely."

The Phoenix on his corner perch squawked and flapped its fiery wings at the complement.  Dumbledore continued.

"As I understand it, Fawkes has once again chosen from among our student population.  Seven to be included in our circle."

"Do we even _need_ to ask?" Snape said sourly from his position in the corner.

"I'll save you the trouble Severus," he replied, eyes twinkling.  "All of the four remaining Weasley children, that is Fred, George, Ron and Ginny have been chosen… er, their parents permitting."

"Couldn't stop them if we tried!" Molly Weasley said.  "Even if we _did_ forbid them, you _know_ they would find a way to be become involved anyway.  This way at least we can keep an eye on them."

"Very good," the Headmaster continued.  "Also there is Mr. Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom!" Snape exclaimed.  "That bird is off its perch!  The boy is a walking menace!"

"Neville may be somewhat… less than graceful in a few of the magical arts, Severus, but he has an uncanny talent with plants.  Professor Sprout will be taking him under her wing."

Snape crossed his arms in a huff.  "Just be sure to keep him away from any potions.  He's liable to blow up the Order before we can get anything done."

"I'll keep that in mind Severus," he said with a smile.  "The remaining two really shouldn't be that much of a surprise to anyone familiar with the last four years at Hogwarts."

Severus rolled his eyes and turned to the window.

"Miss Hermione Granger and if he accepts, Mr. Harry Potter."

"Harry?" Arabella started.  She hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"Miss Granger owled me the moment she received her feather asking me what it was.  She and her parents have agreed to her involvement.  Harry, however, I have yet to hear from.  I will speak to him when he arrives."

"You haven't heard from him at all this summer?" she asked concerned.

"No." Dumbledore said.  "But I'm sure he is doing fine."

*~*~*~*

Worst. Summer. Ever.

That was the only way that Harry felt he could adequately describe the last two months.

As certain animals were able to sense fear, certain predators were able to sense vulnerability.  Such was the case with Harry and the Dursleys.

Almost as soon as he had set foot in the door, his relatives were able to pick up that there was something different about him.  It didn't take a genius.  Harry had all but stopped talking.  He did whatever he was told without question, and when he wasn't being worked like a dog, he was up in his room sleeping.  After a week, the Dursleys had decided to test the waters, see if they could get a rise out of him.  His school supplies were promptly confiscated and locked away in the cupboard that was formerly his home.  Harry hadn't given them so much as a pleading look..  He was only left with Hedwig, her cage (which Vernon Dursley did not lock as he did not want to put up with Hedwig's screeching as they had done the summer after Harry's first year) and his wand, which he kept hidden in the long pocket of his ever-present vest.  He'd taken to wearing the maroon-red article scarcely a day after leaving the King's Cross train station.  He'd purchased it when his aunt had taken them all out to buy Dudley a present for doing so well on his finals (two 'C's in addition to his usual 'D's).  It was made of light breathable material and was open in the front.  He would be able to wear it under a loose shirt or on the hotter days over a tee shirt without much of a look.  As it was, Harry seldom wore tee shirts anymore so the latter was no longer an issue.  His wand, he felt, needed to be with him at all times.  As much as he hated life that summer, he had no wish to come face to face with Voldemort wand-free.  He also kept several galleons, sickles and knuts as well as several muggle pounds in a small money pouch in his baggy pant pocket. He wanted to be prepared in case he ever had to make a run for it.  Constant vigilance.  The phrase had been drilled into him by Professor Moody (who had turned out to be Barty Crouch Jr.) the previous year.

He tried not to think about the previous year, but found he could think of little else.  The conflict in his mind was the cause of his reserved behaviour and his silent depression only served as fuel for his uncle and cousin.

On their way down to breakfast one morning, Dudley had seen fit to push Harry down the stairs for no other reason than he was there.  If not for his finely honed Quidditch skills Harry would have had several fractured bones.  As it were, he merely had to put up with several large bruises and a mildly sprained wrist.

His uncle, instead of reprimanding Dudley had forced Harry to re-paint the stairwell as his shoe had made a rather large scuffmark on the wall on his way down.

The first blow happened two days later.

It was a Saturday and Harry had been sweeping the kitchen floor.  Dudley came running through and shoved him down, causing the broomstick to fall into the porcelain cabinet shattering two of Aunt Petunia's decorative plates.  Dudley grinned down at him wickedly before opening his vat of a mouth and squealing as loud as he could.

"Mum!  Dad!  Harry broke the plates!"

Harry was getting to his feet as Uncle Vernon came thundering into the room a moment later followed closely by his aunt who was grasping dramatically at the collar of her blouse.

"Dudley tripped me," Harry said plainly, by way of explanation.  "I'm sorry.  I'll clean it u—"

Harry heard the strike before he felt it.  He found himself sprawled out on the floor again, the left side of his face burning and the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth.  His tooth had cut into his cheek when the back of Vernon's hand had connected.

Harry held his hand to his cheek, stunned.  His uncle hadn't hit him in years (eight years old was the last time he could recall) and back then it was for offences much more serious than breaking a dish or two.  Harry really never knew why the abuse had stopped, but he guessed that it had something to do with Harry being too quick and his uncle being too large.  It just wasn't worth the effort to chase him.

But Harry wasn't running anymore, and his relatives must have sensed that.  From that day on, any little indiscretion resulted in a shove, a kick or a slap.  Sometimes all three.  The Dursleys seemed to have stopped believing in the avenging murderous godfather, Harry had once had spoken of.  They figured that if he'd really existed, he would have shown up already and they'd convinced themselves that the letters Harry received in Sirius's name were forged by those wicked, abnormal friends of his.

He was actually becoming accustomed to the brown, purple and red marks, which painted his formerly fair skin.

Harry's meals were cut drastically.  The Dursley's were no longer on their rabbit diet, but had still cut down on their portions.  Harry's portions were less than half of what Dudley got.  As such, his weight had dropped considerably, leaving his skin (beneath the bruises) looking sallow and unhealthy and he had dark circles under his eyes.

And through it all, Harry really never fought back.  At the beginning of the holiday, he barely put up any resistance at all.  He deserved the abuse… at least he felt he did.  It didn't feel right to him.  The TriWizard Tournament was over.  School had finished.  He had gotten on the Hogwarts Express and left school.  Cedric Diggory was dead.  He couldn't do any of that, and Harry just went on.  He felt responsible for Cedric's death and could not wrap his head around the idea that he shouldn't be punished in some way for it.

As bad as his days got, his nights were even worse.

Haunted by images of Cedric, his parents and of course, Voldemort, his dreams were painful and full of misery.  He was almost glad that they didn't last long, but his awakening was usually caused by a sharp pain from his scar.  The frequency of the pain was increasing daily.  Each time Voldemort was feeling particularly heinous, Harry would feel it. He bore silent witness to Voldemort's rising, yet surgically cruelty.

And his depression would increase.

And the abuse would continue.  As the summer wore on, he was so weakened by it that even the precious few times he did try to defend himself, he was too weak to do so.  He had taken to curling up into a tight ball or crawling as far into a corner as he could and waiting for it to be over.  Neither method was spectacularly effective though.  His uncle or Dudley would simple drag him out of his safety and continue.

And no one knew about it.

When Ron or Hermione or Sirius would write to him, there was always a standard question: "How are things at the Dursley's?"  For the first time in years, Harry found himself lying to his friends.  It left a horrid taste in his mouth, but it had to be done.  ('Things are going fine.'  'They're travelling a lot so I often get the house to myself.'  'The Dursleys are too afraid of you to bother me.' were some of his more frequently used responses.)  He couldn't very well tell them that his life had become a living hell and that he woke up almost every morning trying to think of a reason not to end it.  He could only ever think of one reason and ironically it was the same core reason behind nearly every torment Harry had experienced in life.

And he had to be stopped.

For his birthday, Harry had received a box of sweets both from Ron and Hermione, (reasoning that although he hadn't said so, they doubted that the Dursleys were feeding him all that well) and affectionate letters from Hagrid and Sirius.  Hagrid apologized for the lack of gift but promised to make it up to him in his sixth year.  He was still on assignment for Professor Dumbledore and would not be at Hogwarts for the coming term.  But he did give Harry, Ron and Hermione permission to visit his hut whenever they felt like getting away from things.

There was also the expected package from Hogwarts, a little bigger than usual.  Included was the standard letter informing him of the school supplies he would require that year.  In addition, there was a letter to announce that he had been chosen to be a Prefect that year.  A silver badge was tucked into an envelope.

And there was a feather.  A bright fiery golden red feather was tucked in among the letters.  There was no explanation for its presence but Harry recognized it as belonging to Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix.  He figured it must have accidentally fallen into his package, but decided to keep it anyway as he was rather fond of the magical bird.

Ron had mentioned that he and his family would be going to Diagon Alley on the sixteenth.  He hoped that Harry would be able to come as Dumbledore said it was not safe for him to visit the Burrow at all that summer.  Harry wrote back that he would be busy that day but he would see them all on September 1st.  He went to the wizarding alley by himself a few days later.  He'd convinced the Dursleys that he was able to get there and back on his own. (And the fact that Diagon Alley would be swarming with _his_ kind greatly helped his argument.)  He walked several blocks and called for the Knight Bus and when he returned that evening, the Dursleys permitted him to place his supplies in his locked away trunk, for no other reason than to have them put away.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, as per usual, had ignored the day of his birth and put him to work.  He wished Dudley had been as apathetic.  Late in the day he and his bullying best friend Piers Polkiss had decided to present to Harry _their_ version of the "birthday bumps."  Instead of playful bumps on the rump for every year of his life, Harry was subjugated to fifteen fist poundings… each, plus one to grow on.  Harry was coughing blood by the end of it.  Aunt Petunia had swatted him with a broom handle for getting her floors dirty and sent him to his room for the rest of day.  The time passed rather quickly as the moment his head touched the pillow, he lost consciousness.

Summer couldn't be over fast enough.

Harry jammed the garden spade into the dirt and wiped his brow with his forearm.  He rocked back in his kneeling position and squinted up into the bright August sun.

In two days he would be returning to Hogwarts and his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were determined to squeeze every last drop of free labour out of him before he left.  Although he hated gardening, he did enjoy being out of the house and away from the Dursley's.  Out here, all he had to deal with was the sun, the earth, the silence...

_"LOOK OUT!"_

Harry didn't hesitate.  With the troubled situations he usually found himself in during the school year, Harry knew better than to question a warning.  He immediately ducked and rolled onto his side.  His hand instinctively reached for his wand, ready to strike.  As soon as he'd hit the ground, there was a 'POP' sound as something small ricocheted off the wooden fence and landed in the garden.  Had Harry not moved, the object, whatever it was, would have hit him in the neck or the back of his head.

Harry rolled over to his other side, looking for the source of the projectile.  He frowned as a smug looking Dudley lowered his BB Riffle from his position in the window.  It was the worst thing his uncle could have gotten the whale for his birthday (short of a real gun).   Worst for Harry at any rate.  Since Dudley had received the 'toy', Harry had been subject to several stinging peltings, and had twice avoided loosing an eye, only once again by using his Bludger dodging skills.

Dudley let out a laugh that sounded similar to the bark of a sea lion and disappeared from the window.  Harry scowled and sat back up.  He looked at the small chip the pellet had made in the fence.  The day after tomorrow, he told himself.  The day after tomorrow and I'll be gone... if Dudley doesn't kill me first.  He snorted miserably.  What a headline that would be, he thought.  _"The Boy Who Lived, Killed By Muggle Toy"_.  The Daily Prophet would have a field day.

As Harry looked at the fence, he suddenly remembered that someone had warned him about the shot.  He looked around the small backyard of Number 4 Privet Drive.  There was no one present that he could see, but given his experience, that didn't necessarily mean that Harry was alone.

"Hello?"  he asked cautiously.

_"Are you okay?"_

Harry jumped.

The voice had come from somewhere to his right.  _Low_ and to his right.  He scanned the garden, seeing nothing at first, but then, among the Begonias, there was movement.  A dark snake raised its head and looked directly at Harry.  It was an Adder, he was sure of it.  Since discovering he was a parselmouth, Harry had taken to studying about the different breeds of snake, especially those more native to Britain.  After all, it was only polite to know _something_ about a person (or creature) you might be conversing with.

_"Hello, there.  I'm fine thanks to you,"_ Harry told the creature.  _"Thanks for the warning."_

_"Anytime,"_ the snake said.

_"Have you been here long?"_

_"I've been watching you dig."_

_"Why? Do you know who I am?"_

_"Yesss.  We all do."_

_"All?"_

_"There are only four of you in the world now.  We all know who you are."_

_"Four?"_  Harry asked, crawling closer to the snake.  _"I thought it was just two."_

The snake seemed to shake his head.  _"You, an old blind woman, the dark one and a baby born just this ssspring."_

_"A baby?  But a babies can't talk,"_ Harry insisted.

_"Not in your wordsss,"_ the snake explained_.  "We are born knowing how to talk.  Our talk."_

Harry nodded.  _"I think I understand,"_ he said.  _"Er... Why were you watching me?"_

_"I'm ssstuck."_

_"Stuck?"_

The snake nodded.  Harry parted the Begonias and saw that the snake was partially impaled upon a sharp twig.  He gasped.

_"Oh, no!  Why didn't you say anything?!"_

_"Didn't want to be a bother."_

_"Don't be ridiculous.  Hold still I'm going to try to take it out."_

The snake allowed him to touch him and as carefully as he could manage it, Harry pulled the twig from its elongated body.

_"Thanksss,"_ the snake said.

_"No problem, but you're bleeding now."_

_"I'll be fine."_

Harry was busy ripping the bottom of his already frayed shirt.  During the summer holidays, he tended to revert to wearing Dudley's old hand-me-downs.  He didn't want his good (fitting) clothes to be exposed to his cousin's torments and so they remained safely stowed away in his school trunk.

_"I'm afraid I don't know much about snake physiology,"_ he apologized, gently tying the strip around the reptile's thin  body.  _"I think maybe I should take you to see someone who is."_

_"I don't want to be a bother."_

Harry sat back on his heels and grinned for the first time in many weeks.  _"You're awfully polite, for a snake."_

_"We're all polite.  There jussst aren't enough of you to tell everyone that."_

_"I suppose not.  Well, polite, or no, you're still bleeding.  I know a veterinarian that is not too far from here.  I could take you."_

_"I don't want to--."_

_"—be a bother.  I know I know.  I'm taking you and it's no bother."_

Harry picked up the garden spade and mashed it against a large rock, breaking off the scoop.  He kept the handle and held out his other hand.  The snake slowly began to wind its way up his arm.

_"Why did you break that?"_

_"I need an excuse to go out,"_ Harry explained. _"I'll tell my aunt I need to buy a new one."_

_"I sssee."_

_"By the way, what's your name?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"Well, I'll think of something,"_ he said and trotted back to the house.

*~*~*~*

Sirius carefully set the three iron stakes up in tri-pod formation.  He cast a locking charm and the poles remained in their  place.  A cauldron, just smaller than your average Quaffle, he hung from the hooks at the top of the poles.  He summoned a jar with shimmering blue liquid from the nearby table and carefully poured it into the pewter pot.  He repeated the action with a light purple liquid.

She's here.

He shook his head.  He needed to concentrate on what he was doing.  He summoned a pouch containing Doxy hair and added three braided strands to the concoction.

She looks amazing.

Sirius cursed as he just stopped himself from adding the Griffin's nail before the three drops of perry melon.  That would have lead to a nasty explosion.

I wonder if she's seeing anyone?

"Five Leggil eyes…"

Doesn't matter.  She hates you.  You saw the way she was looking at you.

Sirius picked up a rosewood spoon and began to stir counter clockwise.

One… Two… Three…

He removed the spoon.  The mixture began to shimmer a deep lagoon green.  It shot off bright turquoise sparks before settling down into a deep turquoise blue.

Success!

She wants you dead.

Wonderful.

*~*~*~*

He had just made the train.  It was 10:57am when Harry stepped onto Platform 9¾.  He had no sooner gotten his trunk stowed away and hopped onto the Hogwarts Express when it began to slowly pull out of King's Cross Station.

Still in the doorway stairwell, Harry pulled out his wand.  He tapped himself on the forehead with it and muttered a quiet spell.  He removed his baseball cap and lowered the collar of his light jacket.  He checked his refection in the glass, patting his hair down as best he could (a futile effort, really) before continuing up the three short steps to the long train corridor.

The train was crowded with its usual bustle of loud and excited students ready for another year of school. Harry walked past every compartment.  All were full.  He knew there would be a seat waiting for him near the back.  There always was.  But this time, he would really have preferred to find a quiet corner by himself.

Reaching the last compartment, Harry peeked his head around to look into the glass window.

"Harry!"

Hermione jumped out of her seat and threw the compartment door open.  The remaining Hogwarts Weasleys weren't far behind her.  Harry took a step back and held his hands up.  From Hermione's motion, he knew she was about to throw her arms around his neck for one of her trademark oxygen depriving hugs.  She stopped immediately looking confused and somewhat embarrassed.

"S-Sorry," Harry explained.  "I --er didn't--  didn't want you to squash Sebastian."

"Sebastian? Who's Sebastian?  And why didn't you write more this summer?" Ron demanded from the doorway.

Harry motioned that they should all go back into the compartment which they did and took their seats.  Harry removed his wand from his vest and handed it to Ron.  He then lowered his jacket down his arms.  There were gasps as everyone automatically backed away as they caught sight of the snake draped over Harry's shoulders.  The snake raised its head and looked around.

"Harry... What—What..." Ginny sputtered.

"Everyone, this is Sebastian."

"Er, Harry…?"

"Isn't that an adder?"

"They're poisonous!"

"Where did you...?"

"_Why_ do you...?"

Harry held up his hand again, as Sebastian seeming to be hissing in his ear.  Harry pointed to Ron and then Hermione, and other three in turn, all the while speaking in parseltongue.  As he pointed to each person, Sebastian's gaze followed and the snake appeared to nod slightly.

"Sorry," Harry said in English.  "He wanted to know who you all were."

He then went about explaining to the group how he'd met the reptile.  He told them that he'd taken Sebastian to a veterinarian he'd been to when old Mrs. Figg, (his former babysitter) needed to take in one of her cats (who had stupidly swallowed a thick old coin from her collection).  The injury in truth hadn't been all that serious but the doctor kept the snake overnight just in case.  Harry had used the muggle money he had with him to pay for the service and had managed to sneak out of the house the next day to retrieve his new friend.  Sebastian, didn't fancy himself a pet, but had asked if he could tag along to Harry's school, as there was nothing of too much interest for him on Privet Drive.

"Harry," Hermione said with a disapproving voice, "I understand how you might be friends with Sebastian, but do you think it's wise to bring him to school.  I mean, snakes are dangerous, and since he's not going to be with you all the time—"

"Snakes are only dangerous when they need to be," he interrupted.  "Like when they're hunting or when they're defending themselves, or when they're scared, but adders like Sebastian don't scare easily.  He's actually quite polite."

"The snake is polite?" George said with a sceptical eyebrow.

"I can see that," Ginny said.  She stood up.  "Can I pet him Harry?  Will he like that?"

Harry said something to Sebastian.

"You can run your finger along the top of his head.  He likes that."

Ginny stepped forward and with her index finger, fearlessly stroked the snake on his head.  Sebastian hissed gently and curled his head up under Ginny's palm.

"What's he saying?" Fred asked.

"He's… well, he's not really saying anything.  That sound… if he were a cat, I'd say he was purring.  He likes you Ginny."

Ginny smiled and re-took her seat, leaving space beside her for Harry.  Harry, still in the doorway reset his jacket, covering his friend in cocooned warmth.

"Uh!  What's that smell?" came a disgusted voice from behind Harry.  Harry turned around.  Draco Malfoy and his 'henchmen' Crabbe and Goyle were standing there, snide expressions painted on their pale faces.

"Oh, it's you, Potter.  You hang around muggles and mudbloods too much.  You're starting to _smell_ like them."

"With the company you keep Malfoy, I wouldn't be the one talking about smell."

Malfoy's face (if it were possible) took on an even more sour tone.  "Don't think we've forgotten that little stunt you pulled at the end of last year."

"Really.  I'm surprised that Crabbe and Goyle can remember anything past a minute.  Something that happened two months ago?  I'm impressed," Harry finished, turning away.

"Don't turn to your back to me, Potter!"

He would have acted but the collar of Harry's jacket began to move and a snake seemed to emerge out of the back of Harry's neck.  The three Slytherins froze in their tracks, and actually took steps backwards when the reptile opened its mouth and bared its long fangs with a hiss.  It remain frozen in this tableau, mouth wide, staring at the boys and poised to strike.

The Slytherins made unintelligible sputtering sounds, trying to deal with their fear and still maintain their 'dignity'.  Harry turned his head to the side so that his profile, wicked grin and all, was visible to them.

"Oh, I forgot," he said calmly, as though there weren't a poisonous snake perched on his neck.  "You haven't met my new friend.  Malfoy, Crabe, Goyle, this is Sebastian.  He doesn't really like it when people threaten me or my friends.  Rather over-protective this one is."

In front of him, the Weasley's were all grinning.  They too had been surprised at Sebastian's hostile appearance but the horrid looks on the faces of the Slytherins more than made up for it.

"C-Come on boys," Malfoy stuttered, finding his voice.  "Potter's lost it.  We'll deal with him later."  The three stumbled backwards from the car stepping on each other as they went.  The door shut and Harry said something in parseltongue.  Sebastian closed his mouth and brought his head around to the front of Harry.  Harry sat down rather rigidly 

"I think I'm gonna like that snake," Ron said.

"Right, Harry.  Tell'em we thought what he did was really cool and that he's alright in our book," Fred added.

Harry spoke to the snake once more and smiled when Sebastian appeared to respond.

"He says thanks and he likes you guys too."

"He wasn't... really going to attack, was he Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged.  "Don't know.  I didn't tell him to do that.  Don't know what he was planning.  And even if he did, it wouldn't have killed them.  They'd just get really, really sick."

"So his poison isn't lethal?"

"To us, probably not.  We're too big.  But to a baby or someone really weak, it might be."  Harry appeared to be thinking for a moment.  "I think I'll tell him to stay away from everyone under fourth year, though.  Just in case."

"Would've served him right, lousy git," Ron said, chomping down on a Liquorice Wand.

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful.  They played exploding snap and tore through the sweets.  Fred and George updated Harry and Hermione on some of their newest jokes.  Harry felt a pang of sadness as he realized this would be the twins' last year at Hogwarts.  In his opinion they were a staple of the school… the jokesters that kept everyone on their toes and kept the light of laughter in their hearts.  What would Hogwarts be without them?

At Hogsmeade, the pranksters in question joined their friend Lee Jordan in a carriage.  The remaining four slid into their own horseless vehicle for the ride to the castle.  Harry had been quieter than usual on the train ride and said no more than five words during the ride in the carriage.

He released Sebastian into a bush near the front gates of Hogwarts, reminding him to mind his injury.  The snake bid him farewell with a promise that he'd see him around.

During the Sorting Ceremony, Harry was less than ecstatic, though he tried to feign it and he slowly mulled his way through the welcoming feast in the Great Hall.  As hungry as he was and as inviting as the banquet before him looked, he found that his stomach was not letting him enjoy it as much as he'd wished.  After practically being starved that summer, Harry found it difficult to eat very much or very quickly.  When the food had first appeared, he like everyone else had dug in promptly.  Moments later, he felt like the food was threatening to make a re-appearance.  He waited a few minutes for the feeling to pass then continued more slowly and in smaller portions.  It seemed that he would have to re-train his stomach, to accept normal amounts of food.

His bird-like eating did not go unnoticed by his friends.

"Maybe you should go see Madame Pomfrey," Fred suggested after Harry explained that his stomach felt un-easy.

"No!" Harry said quickly.  "I'm sure I'll feel better by tomorrow.  Just need a good night's sleep."

"But you need to eat something Harry," Hermione insisted.  "You hardly had any sweets on the train."

"Really, Hermione, I'll be okay."

Any further questions about food intake were put on hold as Professor McGonagall approached them.

"Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore would like a word with you in his office."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other then at Harry.  Harry nodded to the professor and left without another word.  He was halfway there when he remembered that he'd (once again) forgotten to ask for the password.  He continued on anyway.

"Sugarquill...  LemonDrop...  Earwax…  Muggle Muffins..."  Harry tried every expression that popped into his head.  After about thirty seconds he paused trying to think of something else.  It was then that the old gargoyle slid aside on its own and Harry was face to face with a pleased looking Dumbledore.

"Ah, Harry.  I thought you might be having a little trouble.  Come this way."

He followed the Headmaster up the narrow changing staircase to his office.

Harry nervously sat on the edge of the chair that was offered him and waited.  He wondered what it was he could have done.  Was it Sebastian?  He'd never heard of a rule _banning_ snakes at Hogwarts, but still…

"Well, Harry, how was your summer?"

"Er—Fine sir," he answered.

"Things at the Dursleys not too bad?"

Harry felt a surge of panic.  Did he know?  Yesterday was— No, he couldn't know.  He's just making polite conversation.  Harry forced his mouth into a partial grin and shrugged.

"Pretty much the same," he answered.  "No better, no worse.  The Dursleys are the Dursleys."

Dumbledore stared at him with that penetrating gaze for a moment before nodding.

"Now, Harry," he continued.  "When you received your school package, was there by any chance a feather tucked in among the notes?"

Harry nodded.  "Yes.  It was sort of goldish red.  It looked like it came from Fawkes."

The phoenix in question flapped its wings happily from his perch.

The professor's eyes twinkled.  "Yes, indeed it did.  It means that Fawkes has chosen you for the Order of the Phoenix."

"The Order of the Phoenix?  What's that?"

"A group that was originally organized centuries ago to fight Dark Wizardry. It has been brought back for the fight against Voldemort. Fawkes here chooses who will be included.  A gift of a feather is an invitation to Order.  It is rare, but there are times that Fawkes will choose under-aged students to be part of the group.  Your parents were a included among this special breed.  They were in their sixth year when they were chosen.  This time, you, Hermione Ron and his siblings have been chosen."

"Ron and Hermione know about this?" Harry asked.  "They never said anything to me."

"I'm sure they wanted to.  But until I confirmed that you had received your invitation, I'm afraid I had to forbid them from mentioning it to you.  I had no doubt that you were chosen, but the rules of the Order must be adhered to.  For your protection, no one must no you have been chosen until you have been fully integrated.  No one other than the those who have been chosen."

"Are there other students?"

"One other  Mr. Longbottom has also been chosen."

Dumbledore was pleased that Harry did not display shock or bewilderment at the mention of the young Gryffindor's involvement.

"Other than to those I have mentioned," he continued, "you must not speak to anyone about this until this coming Saturday.  That is… assuming that you _wish_ to join?"

"I have a choice?"

"You _always_ have a choice, Harry.  Because you are under-aged, permission needed to be granted by your guardians, but Sirius has stepped in on that capacity and said you may join if you wish to," he said.

"Now, I want you to consider this carefully, Harry.  Your previous encounters with Voldemort have all been by accident or in the process of doing something else.  Joining the Order would mean you are _actively_ working towards his downfall."

A choice? Harry chucked grimly to himself.  Nice of him to say so, but no, I don't have a choice.  This is my life, ruddy as it is, he thought.  It's what he was there for.  Lives needed avenging.  Voldemort needed to be destroyed.  A choice?  There'd never been one.

"I'm in."

Dumbledore beamed.

"Good.  You may return to the feast now if you'd like.  When you are finished, I would like you make your way up to the third floor corridor."

At Harry's startled expression, Dumbledore held up his hand.

"Hagrid has taken Fluffy with him on his assignment.  He shrunk him to the size of a normal dog.  A rather large normal dog with three heads, but he is apparently easier to handle now.  The third floor is where is where the Order will meet.  But right now there is someone waiting to see you."

Harry's heart leapt and for the first time in months, it was in happiness.  He had a strong suspicion who that someone would be.

"C-can I go now, sir?" he asked, standing up. "I'm not really hungry."

"Are you sure Harry?  You're looking a little on the thinner side, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Oh, I'm fine sir, really.  Can I go?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling.  "I must return to the feast myself.  I have a few announcements to make, including the fact that the third-floor corridor on the right hand side will once again be out of bounds.  Ron and Hermione can fill you in on the rest later on."

"Thank you, sir," he said and left the office.

*~*~*~*

"Alohomora."

Harry opened the lock at the end of the third floor corridor.  He paused for a moment, memories of the giant three headed dog washing over him, then proceeded inside.

This was not as he remembered it.  Torches lit the walls bathing the room in a warm glow.  There were three rows of seats (ten each) in a half circle, stadium style so you could see over the person in front of you.  A single stone table was the focal point, over the spot where there had once been a trap door.

"Hello?" Harry called out.  There was no answer.

There was a door in the back corner of the room on the left hand side, large and made out of what looked like thick metal  There was no handle or knob that he could see.

"Alohomora."

The lock remained sealed.  Harry tried the spell again.  "Alohomora!"

Nothing.

Wearily he rested his hand on the cool metal.  There was a shifting sound and he could hear the lock being triggered.  The door slowly creaked open.

Harry cautiously stuck his head in the door.

"Si—Snuffles…?"

Harry cried out as he was enveloped into a tight hug around the waist.  He found himself being swung around in a circle before his feet were allowed to touch the floor again.  He backed away visibly grimacing and clenching his teeth at the hot pain shooting up his back.  His breath came in heavy puffs.

"Harry!  I'm— Are—are you alright?"

"Hi, Sirius.  I'm-I'm fine," he lied.  "I--my back grazed the frame when you pulled me in."

Sirius's face took on a pained expression.  "Harry, I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  I was just so happy to see you.  I should have thought--."

Harry waved him off.  "It's nothing.  Look.  See?"  Harry straightened up and held his hands out. "Good as new."

Sirius still looked unsure.  He stood at a small distance as though he were afraid of coming too near too Harry.  Harry gave him a re-assuring smile.  "Come on, I've gotten worse bumps from Hermione's book bag. Once she starts running, that thing flies all over the place!"

The former prisoner let the side of his mouth quirk up into an awkward smile.  "I don't see you in two months and the first thing I do is give you a bruise."

"Hey, at least our meetings are always memorable."

Sirius actually allowed himself to laugh at this.  It was true.  Everytime he and Harry had been together in the two years since his escape, there had always been some unusual pretence to it.  The first time, Harry thought Sirius was trying to kill him.  The second was right after… well, Harry tried no to let his mind go back to that day.

"So what are you doing here?" Harry asked, hoping to steer the conversation towards friendlier ground.  "Not that I'm not glad to see you of course."

"I live here."

Sirius motioned around the good-sized room.  It was well lit and inviting.  There was a comfortable looking couch and two soft chairs, a large fireplace and three large rugs covering the cold stone floor.  A table with four chairs and a shelf with numerous books of both magic and muggle technology.  There was a desk which was covered in scrolls of parchment and quills.  A small cauldron was hanging on a support by the entrance door.  At the far end of the room was another door which was open and Harry could make out the foot of large bed lit by the moonlight shining through a narrow window.

Sirius ushered Harry to the couch and magiked over two cups of hot chocolate.

"I--I thought you were… gathering some people for Professor Dumbledore."

"Done," Sirius said.  "The Order had been gathered and I'm here to take my place in it."

"_You're_ in the Order of the Phoenix?"

Sirius grinned.  "Did you have a doubt?  And since the Order will be meeting up here, Dumbledore suggested that I just live here.  It's easier than sneaking in and out of the castle all the time in dog form."

"And no rats!"

"And no rats.  Dobby keeps me well stocked in food as I can't very well show up in the Great Hall."

"Do you want me to have my meals up here with you?"

Sirius shook his head.  "Much as I'd enjoy that Harry, you have to continue with your school life as though I weren't here.  You can come and visit me whenever you like, but you mustn't draw attention to yourself."

Harry dipped his head wryly.  Sirius grinned.

"Okay.  Don't draw _more_ attention than usual, oh, Boy-Who-Lived."

"Can Ron and Hermione visit too?  I'm sure they'd love to see you."

"Of course.  I was going to programme them in anyway."

"Programmed?"

Sirius nodded and placed his mug on the low coffee table.  He walked back over to the door with Harry following.

"I've been studying muggle security techniques.  That's one advantage we'll have over Voldemort.  He wouldn't dream of looking to the muggle world for anything of use.  Actually, some of their ideas are really quite good.  A couple that interest me here are surveillance and bio-security."

Harry scrunched his face up.  "Bio… Er… Sounds familiar, but I can't really remember."

Again, Sirius nodded and motioned towards the door.  "In high security muggle places, they're starting to use the human body as a key.  Retina scans for the eye.  Fingerprint recognition.  Voice recognition.  I've taken some of their ideas, put a magic spin on them and am incorporating them into use for the Order.

"Like this cauldron," He said, touching the black pot suspended next to the door.  It had a turquoise coloured liquid in it.  "This is like a muggle security camera.  Do you know what that is?"

"Of course," Harry said.  "They're everywhere."

"That's how I knew it was you at the door.  You tried to open it using Alohomora, didn't you?"

Harry nodded.

"When anyone tries to open the door, turquoise sparks shoot out of here to alert me.  Then I can look into it and see who is on the other side."

Harry nodded, looking very impressed.  "And the door?  You said it was programmed."

"Yes.  I magiked it to recognize Harry Potter.  When you touched the door with your bare hand it opened.  And like the Marauder's Map, it can't be fooled by Polyjuice Potion or any other type of enchantment."

"That's amazing Sirius!"

"Rather proud of it myself," he said grinning.  "Right now, only you, Dumbledore and Remus are programmed for this door.  I was just preparing the spell to include Professor McGonagall when you arrived.  I'll put in Ron and Hermione later.  That's about it."

"So Pro—Remus is here too?"  Harry looked around the room.  "Is he going to be teaching?"

"Yes and no.  He's going to be offering a special advanced dark defence course.  It's completely voluntary and students won't really be graded.  Parents or guardians have to give permission for students to them to join…  I haven't really decided yet if I should let you…"

"Sirius!!!"

"Kidding!  Just kidding!" Sirius grinned holding his hands up in defence.  "Of course you can take the course."

Harry beamed.  Remus Lupin was the best teacher Harry had ever had.  He was Harry's favourite… a sentiment shared by many Hogwarts students.  He'd left after the lycanthropy was made public by a bitter Professor Snape and he'd lost control of himself.  More than a few were sorry to see him go.  Harry was certain he would have no trouble filling this course.  In fact, there might very well be a waiting list.

That reminded Harry of something else.

"Sirius," he asked, "do you know who the new _regular_ Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is?  I saw two new teachers sitting at the head table but I missed hearing who they were."

Sirius's face seemed to darken slightly, and for a moment Harry saw the look of sadness in the man's eyes that he had only ever seen when Sirius was reminiscing about his father, James.

"The man you saw is Mundungus Fletcher.  He'll be teaching Care of Magical Creatures while Hagrid's away."  He paused.  "The woman is Arabella Figg.  She's the Defence teacher."

"Arabella Figg… I know a woman named Arabella Figg.  She used to babysi—she use to look after me sometimes when the Dursley's went away."

That quarter smile tugged at Sirius' face again.

"The woman who looked after you, Mrs. Figg, is Arabella's mother."

Harry's eyes grew into saucers.  "She's a witch?!  Mrs. Figg is a witch?!"

Sirius nodded.

"How come she never told me?!  She must have known who I was!  She could have told me about my parents!  About the Wizarding world!  Why didn't she say anything?!"

"She must not have felt it was her place to.  Always went her own way, that one.  Mrs. Figg is a Seer, Harry, and unlike Professor Trelawney, she actually has a talent.  No one asked her to move to Little Whinging.  No one even knew she was there until Ara—Professor Figg told us.  Seers… _true_ Seers are isolated people.  They tend to keep away from the Wizarding world.  That's why it's so hard to find anyone _good_ to teach your divination class.

Harry was not happy.  All those times Mrs. Figg had forced him to go through album after album of her stupid dead cats, when all that time she could have been teaching him about himself.  She knew the Dursleys didn't tell him anything about his family.  Harry started suddenly.  Could she have known about…?  But then why didn't she…?

"Harry?"

Harry blinked.  He realized he had been staring at the wall with a deep frown on his face.

"All right, Harry?"

"I'm fine," he said.  "Just tired I guess.  Long day.  I should be getting back to my dorm."

"'Course.  Classes tomorrow."

"When can I come back?" Harry asked as Sirius opened the door for him.

"I should be here when you're through with your classes.  Bring Ron and Hermione if they'd like."

Harry smiled.  "I will.  Goodnight, Sirius."

Sirius bid him goodnight and waved him out the door.  Harry kept walking until he'd exited the Order's Chamber, and the entire right side corridor.  He stopped and after a moment dropped to his knees resting his head on the stone floor.  He breathed in shaky shallow breaths.  Tight tears squeezed their way out of his tightly clamped eyes.  He wrapped an arm gingerly around his lower right side.

That.  Was. A. _Baaad_.  Idea, he thought.  

He knew it from the moment Dumbledore had mentioned the third floor, but he'd wanted to see Sirius.

Part of him (a very small part) was proud of his newfound acting ability.  The rest of him thought he was a bloody idiot

And now he was paying for it.

*~*~*~*

He couldn't sleep.  Sleep was painful.  Awake was painful.  But he needed to sleep.  Classes would begin in the morning.  He had to pay attention.  He had to learn.  He had to become the best possible wizard that he could be.  People were depending on him.

He pushed up from his left side.  He hated sleeping on his side.  It left his back exposed.  But under the circumstances…

He listened to the breathing of his roommates… well, what he could hear over Seamus's snoring, before climbing quietly out of his bed.  He changed out of his nightclothes and slipped on a simple sweater and pants.  He considered taking his invisibility cloak, but it was rather heavy to wear.  Also, his movements that day had gotten steadily less graceful.  He wasn't certain he could be completely silent.  If he were caught, he would rather put up with detention than reveal the existence of his father's cloak.

Considering what he was planning to do, if he were caught at all, he prayed it would be on the way _back_ to his dormitory.

Putting on his open school robe (the colour would be better for shadows), Harry left the fifth year's dorm and quietly made his way down the stairs.  The common room was expectantly empty, the fire in the hearth low.  Taking a few deep breaths first, he exited through the Gryffindor porthole.

*~*~*~*

Harry quietly crept his way along the hall towards the dungeons.  Part of him couldn't _believe_ that he was trying to break into Snape's office… _by himself_.  But there was no way that Ron or Hermione could be involved in this operation.

He reached the large black metal door and tried the handle.

Locked, as he'd expected.  He pulled out his wand.

"Alohomora," he whispered.  Harry held his breath at the loud 'CLANG' the lock made as it released.  He listened for a full minute before continuing with his task.

Harry entered the empty potions classroom and, after unlocking a second door, slipped into Snape's office.  After allowing his eyes to adjust, walked to the large cabinet near Snape's desk.  Again, this was locked and again Harry opened it.  He lit the tip of his wand and used it to read the scratched labels on the many containers.

"Loverra Oil… Loverra Oil... Ah!"

Harry picked up the jar containing the creamy white liquid.

"POTTER!"

Harry started and dropped the jar.  It shattered, sending globs of the pasty liquid onto his shoes.

"You'll not be able to charm your way out of this one," Professor Snape sneered.  "Stealing from a professor.  I've finally caught you."

Harry mouthed silently for a moment before dropping his head.

"Really, Potter," he continued snidely.  "I'm rather surprised at you.  Out without your guard?  And did you really think I wouldn't have detection spells after all the other times you've broken in here.

"I've never--"

"Quiet!"

Harry shut his mouth and looked sullen.  This pleased Snape even more as evident by the crooked smile that crept up onto his face.

"Move," he commanded, and placed a hand on Harry's back to steer him towards the door.  He was taken aback when Harry jumped as though his hand were a hot branding iron on his skin.

The professor didn't comment, but narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  He looked from Harry to the broken container on the floor.  His gaze narrowed even more before looking back to the boy.

Harry suddenly became fascinated by the leg of a chair.  He would have given his Firebolt to have a troll come thundering through the dungeons at that moment.

"Remove your robes, Potter," Snape said in a new tone that Harry couldn't recognize.  Harry became a wide-eyed statue.

"Now!" Snape commanded.

Harry tried to keep his hands from visibly trembling as he obeyed.  His heart was racing.

Of all the people… If there was one person he didn't want to find out about… there couldn't have been anyone worse as far as he was concerned… well, except for Malfoy, but he was certain that his secret wouldn't remain hidden from the spindlely faced Slytherin, for much longer.  Not once Snape saw.

Snape took the robe from him and told him to turn around.  He tried to steady his breathing as Snape tugged at the back of his sweater and he held his breath all together as the cool dungeon air struck his exposed back.  A moment later it was set back into place and the professor walked away from him.

His back still turned, Harry closed his eyes and waited for the laugh.  Waited for the joke or the taunt.  _'Poor pathetic Potter.  Ha, Ha.'_

"Incendio."

Harry opened his eyes but did not turn around as the fireplace sprung to life.  He watched the shadows of the flames dance on the far wall.

"Headmaster?" he heard Snape ask.  A moment later there was a 'POP' and Dumbledore's warm voice filled the office.

"Severus.  What can I do for you?"

"I will be escorting Mr. Potter to the Hospital Wing.  Would you meet us there?"

"Of course."

"Thank you."

There was another 'POP' and Harry heard Professor Snape approaching him.  He handed Harry his robes and headed for the door.

"Follow me, Potter."

"Can't you just give me detention or something?" Harry pleaded.

Snape stopped in the doorway and looked at him steely.

"Potter--"

"I don't need to go to the Hospital Wing!  I'm fine.  It's not that bad!"

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Potter," Snape hissed, before turning on his heal and continuing out the door.  Harry dropped his head and woefully followed.

Dumbledore (and to Harry's horror, Professor McGonagall) were already waiting for them when they arrived.  The dungeons were much further from the Hospital Wing than any of the other teachers' rooms, so their swiftness was not surprising.  A tired looking Madame Pomfrey stood with her hands folded and shaking her head.

Professor McGonagall let out a heavy sigh, satisfied, apparently, to see that Harry was at least walking.  He'd been brought into that wing on a stretcher far too often in the past.

"Mr. Potter," she began.  "You have been here just over six hours.  What could you _possibly_ have done to yourself in that short amount of time?"  Her voice was crisp, but she was unable to hide the underlying concern.

"Show them," Snape said sharply.

Harry balled his fists tightly.

"No," he said.  "It's nothing.  I don't need to be here."

"Harry," Dumbledore said kindly, "I'm certain Professor Snape would not have brought you here if he didn't think it was necessary."

Harry stubbornly shook his head.  "No.  No, I'm fine.  I just want to go back to Gryffindor."

"POTTER!"

"NO!"

Snape sighed in annoyance.

"I caught him breaking into my office.  He was attempting to steal a jar of Loverra Oil."

"Loverra Oil?" Madame Pomfrey questioned.  "I use that to heal severe bruising.  It's not much good for anything else.  Why did you need Loverra Oil, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was obstinately looking down at his shoes.  He refused to look at anyone.

Professor Snape rolled his eyes impatiently.

"His back is covered in bruises and welts.  Belt marks from the look of it.

"What?!" exclaimed McGonagall.

Harry violently shook his head.

"No.  I fell."

"Harry--"

"I FELL!  I was bringing my trunk down the stairs and I fell!  That's all!"

"Harry--"

"Look, I'm sorry about the Loverra Oil!  I'll buy it back!  I'll do detention!  Can't I just go now? …Please?"

Professor Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder and continued with what he'd been trying to say.

"Harry, let us help."

Harry blinked furiously, refusing to release the tears which threatened to fall.  The professor crooked a finger under Harry's chin and forced the boy to face him.  Harry tried to look away, but that haunting, piercing gaze of Dumbledore's…

He hugged his patched arms around his chest and hung his head in acquiescence.

Dumbledore turned to Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva, will you please inform our _guest_ as to what is happening.  Tell him that Mr. Potter will be fine and that he should _remain-where-he-is_.  I will speak with him shortly."

After a momentary glance at Harry, Professor McGonagall left the room.

Dumbledore waited until her footsteps could no longer be heard before turning back to Harry and motioning for the boy to continue.  Harry took a couple of steps away from him before unhappily beginning to shrug out of his shirt.  

His chest and arms were coated in dark bruises and sores, in various stages of healing.  There was an especially dark patch near his lower right ribcage.  It looked as though Harry had more injured skin than healthy.  After a moment, Dumbledore motioned with his finger that Harry should turn around.  The boy chewed down on his bottom lip before turning to let them see the damage.

As bad as his front was, this was ten times worse.

Harry's back was a dark rainbow of blacks, greyish-purples, reds and browns.  Long black tracks crisscrossed over each other.  There were a few short marks that seemed to be cuts that had closed up.  Welts and grooves covered him in their purple and blood-brown hues.  All this was emphasised by the slightness of Harry's body.  Though he was disposed to be naturally thin, it was obvious that this level of thinness was due to heavy malnutrition.

Madame Pomfrey let out a strangled gasp and walked quickly to her office.  Harry turned around again.

Dumbledore's eyes had stopped twinkling.  They narrowed suspiciously as he pulled out his wand and pointed it at the boy's face.

"Finite Incantarum," he said quietly.

Harry's clear pale face changed to reveal several more bruises and cuts.  His left eye looked as though it were healing after being swollen shut.

Dumbledore took a deep steady breath.

"Your uncle?"

"It's not as bad as it looks!  Really, it's not!"

"Harry, there is no need for you to defend him.  Was this the only time?"

Harry hesitated a moment too long.  Dumbledore nodded.

"It-- it's never been this bad before," Harry explained quickly, seeing the narrow glint on his headmaster's face.  The seething look that was creeping up behind those blue eyes frightened Harry to his core.  He'd never seen Dumbledore look so vexed.  "He was just really, really angry this time.  I don't think he really knew what he was doing."

"That is _not_ an excuse, Harry.  _No one_ deserves to be treated the way you have been."

"I deserve it," Harry muttered.  His eyes grew wide.  He hadn't intended to say that out loud.

The professor didn't have time to question Harry further as Madame Pomfrey came storming back in.  "You, sit!" she commanded ushering Harry towards one of the tightly made hospital beds.  "Drink this."  He handed Harry a gold coloured goblet containing a deep blue liquid.  "I'm afraid Loverra Oil wouldn't have been much help to you.  Your injuries look to be very much past that."

"They're really not--"

"Drink!  And you two, out!  You can speak with Mr. Potter later!"

Harry had quite forgotten that Professor Snape was still standing near the doorway.    He left immediately but Dumbledore's gaze fell on Harry again, the look plainly telling him that they would indeed be speaking later on.  Madame Pomfrey then pulled a screen around Harry's bed and shooed the Headmaster out.

She was probably the only person in world who could do that, Harry thought to himself as the slick potion began to trickle down his throat.

He immediately began to feel warm all over and his injuries, especially those on his back, began to tingle and throb… at least in a more pleasant way than they had been.  His eyes began to feel heavy and Harry realized that the potion must also include a sleeping additive.  Harry was famous for trying to leave the Hospital Wing before Madame Pomfrey's permission was given, or not resting enough when he was there.  He lay down on his side, lest he topple forward onto the floor.  He wondered if the sleeping potion had been a part of the original elixir or if the old nurse had added it just for him.

Sly ole bird, he thought as his eyes drifted shut.

He knew no more.

To be continued…

Can't guarantee every chapter will be this long.  Please r/r.  I need fuel (aka reviews) to continue writing.  The more I get the faster I write.  No pressure. :-)


	2. Vultur Non Capit Muscam

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

**Harry Potter and the Spirits Within**

**by Gates**

**Chapter Two: ****Vultur Non Capit Muscam**

Ron threw on his school robes and quickly did up the clasps.  He was a little bit irked that Harry had gone down to breakfast without him.  He hadn't even bothered to wake him up.  But considering how little he'd eaten at dinner, Ron figured Harry must have wanted to get an early start to satisfy his stomach.

The boy-who-lived had already settled into bed when Ron returned from the feast the night before.  He was half asleep, his curtains drawn, but when Ron stuck his head through them, Harry was lucid enough to tell him that Sirius was staying in the castle and that's where he had been for the rest of the meal.  Ron was glad and looked forward to seeing his friend's godfather again.

Ron left his dorm and trudged down the stairs to the common room.  Hermione was waiting for him in a large chair, book in hand.  She was sitting in the morning sunlight by a window, and Ron felt a little something shudder within his chest.  He dismissed it and walked over to his friend.

Hermione smiled up at him and the shudder returned for an instant.

"Morning Ron.  Where's Harry?"

"Already gone," he replied.

"Without us?"

Ron shrugged.  "Didn't even wake me, the wanker."

"But he was there last night, right?"

"Yeah," he said, then leaned in close. "Snuffles is here.  He's staying in the castle.  That's where Harry was."

"Snuffles?!" Hermione's face lit up. She shoved her book into her book-bag and stood up.  "Well, let's go then.  I want to hear how he's doing."

Ron reached out his hand and headed for the exit, stopping after only one step.  He turned realizing what he'd done.  Wide-eyed, Ron looked down at his left hand.  It was clasping Hermione's right.  Something he'd done in previous years to hurry her along, but for this time it felt different… it felt right… and that felt wrong.  He released her hand quickly and turned again to the exit, not particularly wanting to see whatever expression was on her face at the moment.

"Come on then," he said, noting that his throat felt unusually tight.  He heard her following and held the portrait open for her when he reached it.  She passed him into the corridor and there was an odd silence as the fat lady closed up again.

"…Alright, Ron?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice just then.  He motioned that they should continue and they did so without comment.

Rounding the first bend, the pair almost ran into the head of their house.  Professor McGonagall's face was more stern than usual and there was deep agitation behind her eyes.

"Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger.  A word please," she said shortly.  The two Gryffindors regarded at each other hesitantly before following.

They really wanted to find Harry, but the deputy headmistress and head of their house led them into an empty classroom.

"Now, I understand how important trust is among friends," she began straight on.  "And I know the ability to hold a confidence is fundamental in that trust.  But _really_. I would have expected better judgement from two Gryffindors.  _Especially_ the two of you."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other in bewilderment.  What was she on about?

"Potter's condition is not something that should have been kept secret from us."

"Condition?  What condition?" Ron asked.

"Has something happened to Harry, Professor?" Hermione asked with worried eyes.

McGonagall looked at two of them in puzzlement.  She then closed her eyes and sighed heavily.

"Bewitch me.  You didn't know," she muttered.

"Know what?" Ron asked in a pressing voice.  Had it been anyone else but McGonagall (or possibly Dumbledore) Hermione knew he would be yelling by now.

McGonagall opened her eyes again, the agitation replaced with a slow sadness.

"My apologies," she said.  "I thought he would have told the two of you, at least."

She took a breath.  "Mr. Potter is once again in the Hospital Wing."

"What's wrong with him?!"

"What happened?!"

McGonagall held up her hands.

"Professor Snape caught him breaking into his office last night.  He was attempting to steal a jar of Loverra Oil."

"For bruising?"

"Yes, Miss Granger.  Mr. Potter's injuries are evidence of a severe beating.  Several in fact," she added in a sour voice, "as Madame Pomfrey has found wounds many weeks old.  We suspect his uncle, but Harry has yet to confirm that.  It took a great deal of effort for him to show us _this_ much.

"How--I mean… is it--bad?" Hermione asked.

"I'm afraid it is."

"But--But he was fine!"  Ron insisted.  "He wasn't hurt!"

"I've seen him with my own eyes, Mr. Weasley."

"But… that-- that doesn't-- He wasn't---"

"R--Ron… remember on the train--- he was sitting so… _stiffly_ on the edge of his seat.  And he wouldn't let me hug him."

"Because of Sebastian!"

"Ron--"

"No!  I'm his best friend!  He would'a told me!"

"Mr. Weasley--"

"He looked fine!"

"He used a masking spell on his face."

"…"

Ron felt deflated.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"It will take some time, but yes.  He should make a full recovery."

"Can we see him?"

"He's asleep, Mr. Weasley."

"Can we see him?"

McGonagall sighed.  She knew there was no use in arguing with these two on this point.  If they wanted to see Potter, they would find a way, permission or no.

"I'm sure I could persuade Madame Pomfrey to allow a few minutes.  But he _needs his rest_."

The pair nodded swiftly and followed the professor out of the classroom.

*~*~*~*

Remus Lupin rubbed his eyes wearily.

He'd been sitting clear and awake since Professor Dumbledore had knocked on his door in the dark hours of the night.  He'd been horrified to hear about Harry.  Anger coursed through his unusual veins.  How dare the Dursley's do this to such a sweet boy?  He'd been through so much already.  More than most full-grown adults had ever experienced.  The weight of the world was on his shoulders and now this… How _dare_ they?!

His own anger needed to be stayed for the moment, however.  The anger of another would prove to be far more volatile.   And even before it was said, Remus knew that Dumbledore was going to mention it.

Sirius.

He was livid.

When Remus and Dumbledore arrived at Sirius's quarters, Minerva had her wand raised and was threatening the man with a full body bind.  With the look that was in Sirius's eyes, Remus wasn't sure that a normal body bind would have been strong enough.

The Headmaster first and foremost forbid Sirius to leave the grounds until the Dursleys were in custody.  After all their work trying to find a way to prove Sirius's innocence, they didn't need three _actual_ murders on his hands.

They managed to calm the former convict down enough to get him into a chair.

"How bad is it, Albus?  Really?" he asked.

Dumbledore sat opposite him.  "Quite, I'm afraid.  He will heal, but it will be difficult.  He had three broken ribs, which Poppy has repaired as well as a fracture in his cheekbone and in his left femur.  The bruising will have to heal on its own."

"His leg was broken?!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"A minor hairline fracture.  He was still able to walk as we have all seen, but I imagine it wasn't too comfortable for him."

"Minerva said something about his back," Sirius prodded.

"That," Albus began, straightening up, "is where the difficulty comes in."

"What do you mean?"

"The injuries to Harry's back are more than surface.  Indeed there has been some bruising of his internal organs.  The problem… is that these injuries were inflicted with severe malice."

"His uncle truly hates him that much?" Minerva asked, to no one in particular.  Everyone present knew what the power of severe malice could do.

"The Noceo Protractus charm will have to be performed."

"As if the boy hasn't been through enough," Remus muttered.

"He will go through a great deal more if the charm is not performed, Remus.  You know that."

"It doesn't mean we have to like it," he responded, more curtly than he'd intended to.  It was obvious Dumbledore took no offence, but Lupin softened his voice when he continued.

"When will it be done?" he asked.

"As soon as Mr. Potter wakes up," Dumbledore said.  "Poppy assures me that won't be until the morning."

And so this was how Remus found himself seated next to Harry's bed, a large black dog lying miserably at his feet.

Harry slept quietly on his stomach, a cool muslin shirt replacing a normal pyjama top.  For the most part he slept soundly, with only the occasional twitch or slight spasm interrupting his peaceful repose.

At the sound of approaching footsteps, both Remus and Sirius lifted their heads and looked towards the door.  Professor McGonagall entered followed by a very tense looking Ron and Hermione.  He stood to greet them.

"I believe you both remember Professor Lupin," Professor McGonagall said.

The two nodded and extended their hands in greeting.

"It's good to see you again, Professor," Hermione said.

"And the two of you," he replied, attempting a small smile.

"And this… er…" McGonagall continued, looking at the dog.

"Hi, Snuffles," Hermione said.

The dog gave a small bark.  McGonagall looked from Snuffles to the children.

"You've met," she said, as more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, we're old friends."

McGonagall rolled her eyes.  "Is there _nothing_ the three of you don't get into?"

No one responded as Ron moved past them all to Harry's bedside.  Harry's face was on its side and he Ron could clearly see the dark bruising which covered his cheek and chin.  The eye that was healing from being swollen shut…

"Ah, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley.  I see you have been appraised of the situation."

Remus turned to see that Professors Dumbledore and Snape had silently entered the room.  Severus held a pewter goblet in his hands.

"They didn't know anything about Potter's condition, Albus.  I filled them in."

The Headmaster nodded.  At that moment, Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office.  As Professor Snape made his way over to her, Remus did not miss the sharp look that the young Weasley threw Professor Dumbledore, without the man's notice.

"What's this?" Poppy asked, accepting the offered goblet.

"A strengthening solution.  The boy will need it.  It won't interfere with the charm."

"Thank you, Severus," she responded, not bothering to hide the surprise in her voice.  A strengthening solution was not required to perform the Noceo Protractus charm, but it did help the victim to endure it.

"Yes, that was very—"

Albus's praise was cut off by a weak sounding moan.  Every eye in the room travelled to the bed where Harry lay.  He was still for only a moment, then another moan escaped him and he began to move.

"He's waking.  It's time," Madame Pomfrey said.

"Poppy, can't it wait some?" Remus asked.

"No," she said emphatically.  "The Noceo Protractus spell must be completed between the first rays of dawn and noon time.  The time it takes varies and if we go over, we will have to start again tomorrow.  I'm sure no one wants that."

There was silent agreement in the room, but Ron and Hermione just looked at each other in confusion.  They had never heard of Noceo Protractus, but got the distinct feeling that this was not the time to ask..  

*~*~*~*

"Whuh—waza… ow…"

"Easy, Mr. Potter.  I should imagine you are feeling quite tender right now."

Harry lifted his head slightly and the blurry mediwitch came into view.  He found himself wondering what she was doing in his dorm room.  He looked past her and saw other familiar blurry figures, all apparently focussed on him.

Why is everyone…?

A growing ache in his back seemed to put things back in focus.  He was in the Hospital Wing.  They'd… they'd found out about what…

Harry groaned and buried his face back into the pillow.  Best not to think about the Dursleys.

"Time for that later, Mr. Potter.  We must get some unpleasantness out of the way first."

He looked up at her again and sighed.

"Glasses…?" he said weakly.

"No.  It's best you don't wear them just yet.  They might break.."

His brow knitted in question, but she continued.

"Harry, I need to perform a spell on you.  You were… injured… with severe malice.  This means you will not heal unless the malice is first removed.  It isn't important that you understand this right now, but it is important that you trust us and that it is done right away."

Harry stared blankly for a moment before nodding weakly.  At that moment, he didn't really care what she did to him.  Whatever let him get back to the blissfully dreamless sleep he'd been in would be welcome.

She presented him with the goblet.

"Drink this, it will help."

Help?  Help what?  The pain?  He managed to lift himself up enough to drink the potion she handed him, and was somewhat pleased to note that it tasted of berries.  But the energy to drink left him and after handing her back the cup, he immediately dropped back down into his pillow.

"Harry, I'm not going to lie to you.  The Noceo Protractus charm is very painful, and I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to prevent that.  But you must remain still or we will have to start all over again.  As such, I will ask Professors Dumbledore and Snape to help you. Do you understand?

Snape?  _He's_ going to help me?  I must _really_ be bad off.

Harry nodded.  He didn't care, just let it be over with.

"I'll have to ask the rest of you to leave," he heard her say.  Harry heard no sound of movement.  "Now!" she stressed.

"Poppy," he heard Dumbledore say, "if I recall correctly, having people around who care for the patient can help with the speed of the spell.  It might be beneficial to Harry to let everyone stay."

"Fine.  I don't have time for this, just everyone stay out of the way!"

He heard slight movement and guessed that his friends were moving back some.

"Now Albus, Severus, I'll need you to be prepared to hold him down…"

**_"….hold him down…. …hold him down… …hold him…"_**

"Wouldn't a binding spell work better?"

"No, sir.  It would interfere with the charm.  If it gets too difficult for him to hold still on his own, I'll need you to hold Harry down at his arms.  Severus, you would take his legs.  Make certain he moves as little as possib--H--Harry?"

Harry was making a deep gasping noise from his pillow.  Madame Pomfrey turned his face to her.  He continued to gasp for breath.

"Harry?  Harry, you need to calm down, you're beginning to hyperventilate."

**_"…hold him… …hold him down… …hold him…"_**

"Harry…?  Respiro!"

With the breathing charm, Harry immediately began to relax and breathe normally.

"Harry, you _must_ trust us if this is to work," Dumbledore said.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and nodded.  They didn't understand.  It wasn't them.

"This isn't a show," Pomfrey muttered, and he could hear the sound of screens being drawn.  A moment later, the soft shirt he was wearing was magicked away and he tensed reflexively at the sudden exposure.

There was a pause and then he heard Madame Pomfrey begin to murmur quietly.  Through his tightly closed eyes, he started to see a red glow.  A cold dark feeling crept its way into his stomach, and a chilling realization into his mind:

This was going to bad.

*~*~*~*~*

From the moment the screens slid shut around the bed area, a nervous tension filled the five people waiting nearby.  Minerva McGonagall tensely rang her hands together while slowly turning from side to side as though uncertain as to where to go.  Remus had retaken his chair and was studying the floor.  Snuffles was staring steadily at the screen.  Ron was a statue tightly clenching his teeth and Hermione, who was distraught enough that she didn't know what was going to happen, wore a steady track on the floor.

All gave a simultaneous jump once the screaming began.

Harry was yelling as though someone were trying to skin him alive, stopping only to take several shaky, pain-filled gasps, before yelling again.  Snuffles must have thought that was exactly what they were doing to him, for he darted towards the closed screen… only to be yanked back as someone wrapped two strong arms around his neck.  Remus was on the floor holding back his long-time friend.  No easy task as the big dog was slowly dragging the both of them across the hospital wing floor.

Hermione meanwhile had begun sobbing.  Ron pulled her into a tight embrace, crushing her into his chest.  He buried his face in her hair and tried to force his ears to block out the sound.  As it continued, it was only his care of Hermione that prevented him from taking up Sirius's quest.

Professor McGonagall stood frozen, eyes closed, a hand covering her mouth.

"Stop—this!" Remus growled through his teeth. "Si—"

Remus removed one of his arms and pulled out his wand. "Pertrificus Totalus!"

The great dog's legs stiffened and he fell over onto his side.  His haunting eyes travelled from the screen to Remus, who was kneeling over him.  Remus put a hand on his head.  The look in his friend's eye told him in no uncertain terms that had he not been frozen at the moment, the hand would no longer be attached to his body.

"I'm sorry, Sirius," he said.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Over a half hour had passed.  Harry was no longer screaming.  The rawness of his throat had reduced him to retched heart filled sobs into his pillow.

Snape and Dumbledore had indeed needed to be called on in the beginning.  They held him down as he struggled to get away from the pain.  At this point he was either too weak from the struggle or too numb to require restraint.  He lay flaccid as the old nurse continued her ministrations.  Dumbledore gently stroked Harry's unruly mop of hair, now damp from perspiration, offering what comfort he could.

Madame Pomfrey stood at the bedside, her wand raised and her eyes closed.  She muttered the words of the charm quietly, her concentration refusing to let her acknowledge the suffering she was being forced to administer.  'Concentrate on the task, and worry about the effects at a later time.'  It was a lesson that had been drilled into her by the witch she'd apprenticed with in her youth.  She had to distance herself from her patient.  She had to focus on the illness… This is what a true mediwitch must do in order to heal…

But she was still human… and this was trying every nerve and sense in her body.

A red ball of light hovered over Harry's body.  It swam with evil.  Even Snape shuttered in its presence.  Small, thread-sized strands of red light, from around one to three inches long, were seeping out of Harry's skin like festering worms.  Each one joined the red ball, slowly adding to its size.  In the beginning, there had been hundreds of them at a time.  Now, they had dwindled to five or six every few seconds.

Snape's hands were enveloped in his robes.  He continually clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to ignore the crawling feeling in his skin.

He wondered silently how this would affect Potter.  The boy would need to be strong in the coming months.  Physically, mentally and spiritually.  If he weren't, the Order's plans would be significantly set back. 

Which meant Voldemort's time would be lengthened.

Which meant he would still be summoned.

Which meant…

He would rather not think about what _that_ meant.

Another red thread emerged from Harry's back.  Another.  And then nothing.  And more nothing.

Madame Pomfrey gasped and her eyes rolled back in her head.  Both Snape and Dumbledore acted quickly.  The headmaster caught the mediwitch before she hit the floor, showing surprising speed and agility for a man of his advanced age.  Professor Snape brought out his wand and aimed it at the glowing ball of evil.

"Expecto Livor," he said.  The glowing ball changed from swarming red, to a deep blue.  It began to spin and changed to a brilliant gold.  It erupted into a white flash before dissipating completely.

Madame Pomfrey was back on her feet with Professor Dumbledore's help, her hand to her head.  "Thank you Albus.  Severus."

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked.

"Just tired.  I'm fine."

"And Potter?"

Poppy waved her wand over Harry, twice, muttering another spell.  She checked the medical band on his wrist.

"The malice is gone.  He can heal now," she said.  Another flick of the wand and the muslin shirt was back on her patient.  She poured a goblet full of sleeping draught and moved to give it to Harry.

"I don't think that will be necessary, Poppy," Albus said, gesturing towards the injured boy.

Harry was already asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was an odd sight.

Not Hermione Granger fiercely concentrating on the large book in front of her. The oddness came from her companion, Ronald Weasley. Not that his accompanying her to the library was all that uncommon… it was the fact that instead of passing the time looking Quidditch magazines, Ron was studying from a thick textbook.  Quill in hand, he took steady notes from the copy of _Special Delivery: Charms and Curses by Post_.  The Dursleys would be the recipients of several unpleasant owls in the coming days, if Ron had anything to say about it.  He'd gotten the idea from Hermione actually.  The previous year, due to an inflammatory article by Rita Skeeter, his friend had been pummelled with post carrying boils inducing potions and other nasty articles.  For the Dursleys, Ron was looking for something much worse.

Hermione on the other hand was busying herself with the Noceo Protractus charm.  Ron had tried, but his anger over the whole situation made it impossible for him to concentrate enough to understand the advanced charms texts at the moment.  It was decided that his fury could be best used elsewhere.  He was pleasantly surprised that Hermione had not objected to his mutterings about the post.

"I think I understand it," Hermione said quietly.

Ron looked up from his parchment.  "You figured it out?"

Hermione nodded and turned in her seat to face him.  "Apparently there are two types of inflicted injuries:  accidental and intentional.  If someone injures you by accident, the injury will heal or not heal of its own accord.  If it was an intentional injury, it breaks down three categories:  purposeful, malice and severe malice."

"How can an intentional injury be purposeful?"  Ron questioned.

"Like… an operation.  Cutting someone open is intentionally injuring them, but it has a purpose."

"…Or like what Madame Pomfrey was doing to Harry…" Ron mused.

"Exactly," she said.  "Harming someone with Malice, on the other hand, slows down the healing process. So… if you fell off your broom and broke your arm, it would heal faster than if someone _pushed_ you off the broom and _wanted_ to hurt you--"

"—the arm wouldn't heal as fast.  I get it," He shrugged. "Makes sense I suppose."

"Now, the Noceo Protractus is a charm to physically pull the effects of _severe_ malice from a victim.  Severe malice completely inhibits healing and in some cases can cause the victim's condition to worsen.  People can die from it."

"So…" Ron scrunched up his face.  "Malice is a curse then?"

"In a way.  It's a… well… projection of anger and hate.  So it is like a curse I guess.  It is the basis of the Cruciatus curse apparently.  Focussed malice and rage… Someone harnessed it."

"And multiplied by a million," Ron mumbled.  He shook his head.  "That doesn't make sense though.  The Dursleys are muggles.  They can't do curses.  They can't do magic."

"I know.  That part's confusing to me too.  I have to do some more research.  But it says here that…" Hermione ran her finger down the page of the text and began to read from it:

"The ability to project malice is a fully human trait and not limited to magical folk.  The transfer of malice energies is connected to human core energy, which does not differentiate."

"And that means exactly…?"

"That I have more research to do."

Ron nodded.  He turned to his own book.  "How about a… spider-spitting curse?"

Hermione looked over his shoulder.  "You'd have to handle three live spiders for that one."

"Next!" he said quickly and turned the page.  Hermione smiled at him. Despite the situation, it was nice to know some things could always be counted on.

*~*~*~*~*

Remus knocked on the open classroom door.

"Severus?"

The potions professor cast a quick glance in the werewolf's direction, before putting his attention back to his work.  "What can I do for you, Lupin?"

"Well, first of all, you can call me Remus."

"Whatever."

"Secondly… I just came down here to thank you."

"Thank me?" Snape asked absently.  He was pouring a vile of green liquid into a smaller container, with measured accuracy.

"For what you did for Harry."

"I'm afraid, I don't know what you mean."

Remus raised an eyebrow.  "Bringing him to the hospital wing, helping with the charm, any of this ring a bell?"

"And what exactly," Snape said bitterly, "had you expected me to do upon finding a student in such a state?  Remove points and send him to clean the Great Hall?  Perhaps you believed that I would have added to his injuries for my own enjoyment?"

"I didn't mean anything like that."

"Of course you did."  Severus put the vile and container down and turned to face him.  "That's exactly what _anyone_ would expect from a 'greasy bastard' like myself.  Sorry to disappoint you.  I take no pleasure in the abuse of children, no matter _who_ they are."

Lupin's eyes darkened.  He neither liked the implication nor having words put into his mouth.  He retaliated with an implication of his own:  "I'm certain Mr. Longbottom would take issue with that."

"Mr. Longbottom is a danger to himself and others."

"And the other houses; Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw… anyone who isn't a Slytherin.  I'm certain they all have tales of abuse to report against you."

"So you are comparing my verbal actions to what was done to Potter?"

"Of course not!  I'm merely saying that--"

"This is an institute of learning, is it not?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean--"

"Listen.  Carefully. _Remus_."  Snape placed his fists on his desk and leaned forcefully towards the man standing on the other side.

"Dumbledore is a magnificent man, but at times he is very blind.  Before my… _abuse_, children would grow up and leave these halls with far too thin a skin on them.  Unprepared for what and _whom_ they may meet in the outside world.  In _my_ class they learn that not everyone is _nice_.  Not everyone in a position of power or respect is to be trusted.  They learn that the monsters don't always live in their closets and under their beds or in _shrieking shacks_.  They learn _fear_.  And fear is what will make them think twice when it is needed."

"…You're talking about Death Eaters…"

Severus narrowed his eyes.  "If they can't survive _me_… what chance do they have out there?" he growled.  "We are in a war.  The same war that went on almost two decades ago.  It never ended.  It was quiet for a while, but I knew it was not over."  

He straightened to his full height.  "These children need to be prepared for what lies beyond these walls.  You do it your way.  I'll do it mine."

Snape turned back to the mixtures in the cabinet behind his desk.  Professor Lupin remained where he stood.

Was that what happened to you? Remus questioned silently.  No one prepared you for what was out there?  Is that why you became--

"Are you still here?"

Remus shook himself out of his thoughts.  He looked at the potion in Severus's hands.

"What is that?"

"Dabtihs Annog*."

Remus raised two surprised eyebrows.  Severus shrugged.

"Somewhat childish and immature, I know, but effective none the less.  Leaves no trace behind."

"What… I mean, who…?"

"The Dursleys will be taken into custody tomorrow.  I thought I might pay them a visit tonight."

"But--but, usually, only a half a drop in someone's drink is good for an entire day.  How much are--?"

Severus held up the container.  It had to hold two metric cups worth.

"That much," Remus muttered.  "That—that's just cruel, Severus," he stated.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Remus continued.

"I want in."

*~*~*~*~*~*

It was too bright.

His eyes were still closed, but he knew it was too bright.

The second thing he noticed was that he was on his back.  He brought his hand up to his face and became very much aware of how stiff his body was.

"Welcome back."

He started at the voice to his right.  It wasn't threatening, he just wasn't expecting anyone.  He moved his hand and opened his eyes in little slits.

"Sirius?"

"Hey, kiddo."

"Whuh—what are you doing here?"

"Are you serious?"

Harry was too tired to attempt the pathetic pun.

"I meant… Madame Pomfrey…"

"Oh, her.  She knows about me.  Dumbledore thought it would be best to tell her since there was no way I was going to leave your side, and she wasn't about to let a dog sit in her infirmary all day."

"Oh.  Thanks," he said as his godfather handed him his glasses.

"How do you feel?"

"Stiff.  A little sore, but not too bad."

"A few more days and you should be good as new.  You're awake now so you can take the healing potions.  They work faster than the charms."

"A few more days?"  Harry wrinkled her brow.  "How long have I been here?  What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday afternoon, Harry.  You've been asleep for three days."

Harry groaned and closed his eyes.  "Great.  I'll never catch up."

"Don't worry about your classes, Harry.  You'll have help getting up to speed.  You just worry about getting better right now."

Harry nodded ruefully.

"Harry…" Sirius finally said. "Please tell me what happened."

Harry closed his eyes.

"Harry, please. You can't keep this inside you.  If you won't talk to me, talk to Remus or Dumbledore or Ron…. anyone.  Will you do that Harry?"

Harry drew a shaky breath.  He opened his eyes but didn't look at his godfather.  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  He shut it a moment later, resignation on his face.

"Harry, you've got nothing to be afraid of.  No one's going to--"

"I--I'm tired Sirius," he said closing his eyes again.

Sirius sighed and conceded for the moment.  He pulled the sheets up to Harry's neck.

"Then sleep, Harry."

The boy nodded and settled down.

"Sirius?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"…I'm… I'm glad you're here."

Sirius smiled kindly.  He leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Harry's forehead.

"So am I, Kid.  So am I."

*~*~*~*~*

Harry awoke again to a slight weight on his chest.  Not very heavy, but noticeable when your breathing wasn't up to snuff.  He slowly opened his eyes to find himself looking into the grey and black face of Sebastian.  It was night.  Sirius was gone.

_"Harry."_

_"Hi, Sebastian."_

_"I told you."_

_"What?"_

_"I told you, you needed to sssee a veterinarian."_

Harry smiled weakly and rolled his eyes.

_"Physician, Sebastian.  Humans see physicians.  Animals, reptiles and birds see veterinarians."_

_"You're an animal."_

_"Animals other than humans."_

_"I ssstill told you.  I knew you were sssick."_

_"You know, saying: "I told you so," isn't very polite."_

_"Neither is lying to your friendsss and making them worry about you."_

"…Some things… it's better that they don't know… People have more important things to worry about than me."

"I've been here all afternoon.  They ssseeem to think you're pretty important."

"**_…_**"

"You ssshould appologizzzze."

_"Should I now?"_ Harry asked indignantly.

"It'sss only polite."

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was released from the Hospital Wing on Friday after lunch, with strict instructions from Madame Pomfrey not to over exert himself and to report to her the following morning for a once over.  He'd agreed, knowing full well that if it were up to her, Harry wouldn't be leaving for another week.  He'd assured her that he felt fine.  He admitted to being a little stiff but reminded her that lying in bed all day would do little to cure that.

Professor Dumbledore had not come to the Hospital Wing since the morning of the Noceo Protractus charm.  At his request, via Madame Pomfrey, Harry was on his way to the elderly wizard's office.  He wasn't looking forward to the meeting.  If the looks he was getting in the hallways were any indication, this wasn't going to go well.

It was quite obvious that everyone knew what had happened, or at least some portion of it.  Most of the bruises had healed and faded thanks to magical methods.  His back was still the worst, but would be concealed.  His face had mostly healed as well, save for a slight darkening where the fracture in his left cheek bone had been.  His tired and weary appearance would only go away with time… hopefully

Harry gave the password at the stone gargoyle ('Bloodpops') and knocked on the door at the top of the stairs.

"Come in, Harry," the professor said.

Harry was grateful that no one, save the professor and Fawkes were present.

"Tea?" the professor offered, motioning towards a chair.  Harry shook his head no, and sat down as the professor poured himself a cup.  He sat down in his in his own large chair after adding two lumps of sugar to his drink.

"Well, Harry.  I hope that you are feeling a little better."

"I am, sir.  Much better."

"Do you have any questions?"

"Sir?"

"About the charm that was performed on you."

"Uh, not really, sir," Harry said, and at Dumbledore's surprised look, he explained.  "Hermione and Ron came to see me yesterday.  She's been doing research on it."

"Ah, yes.  Miss Granger's talent for tenacious study is reaching near legendary proportions."

"I'm sure she'd be glad to hear that, professor."

Harry nodded.  Indeed he did have questions about the Noceo Protractus.  Hermione still had not found how Vernon, a muggle was able to affect him with malice.  He was certain the professor would know, but Harry was in no mood to be given a riddle or a vague answer.  Hermione would find out and tell him straight.  He could stay his curiosity till then.

Dumbledore nodded.  "Will you be able to attend the first meeting of the Order tomorrow?"

"Definitely, sir."

A slight twinkle re-appeared in the headmaster's eye.  It was the first Harry had seen since they had met in that very office the previous Sunday.  It faded quickly though, and the uncomfortable seriousness of this man returned.

"Harry… How long has this been happening?"

"I… It… Not long sir.  It only started up again this summer."

"Again?"

"**…**"

"Harry?"

"Dudley never really stopped.  But Uncle Vernon, he… he stopped when I was around eight.  He couldn't keep up with me anymore when I'd run.  He'd still kinda push me around a bit… but nothing too bad.  He stopped all together when I got my Hogwarts letter."

"When did it first start?"

"…I… I don't remember.  I was too young."

Dumbledore pressed his lips tightly together.

"And this summer?"

"I…" Harry shook his head.  "I was too slow.  I knew that I was supposed to be quick about things.  They'd told me often enough.  I would…  sort of get lost in my thoughts and then they'd catch me.  If I stayed out of their way, it was okay.  If I'd just kept my head about me…"

"Harry… Do not defend them.  You were not responsible for this.  You did not deserve to be treated like this.  No one does."

"**…**"

"Do you understand that, Harry?"

"Yessir," he mumbled.  Dumbledore sighed.

"What about this latest incident Harry?  What happened?"

The boy suddenly looked very closed.

"Harry.  I need you to tell me."

"Why?"

"The Dursleys have been taken into custody."

The boy looked up.

"All of them," the professor continued.  "Charges have been brought against your aunt and cousin as well."

"But… the Ministry… no one knows what happened."

"No.  But the fact that _something_ happened is enough to hold them.  In Wizarding law, whether or not your aunt and cousin were a party may be irrelevant.  They were there, and you were under your aunt's guardianship as well as your uncle's.  She was supposed to protect you.  She didn't.  She's responsible.  You're cousin was taken in because he's also suspected to be involved.  That is why I need you to tell me what happened.  The Ministry needs to sort who did what.  Or who did nothing, as the case may be."

"**…**"

"Harry…"

"**…**"

"You have nothing to fear from the truth, Harry."

It wasn't the truth, Harry was afraid of.  It was the memory.  If he knew the proper memory charm, he would have obliterated it from his own mind.  But they hadn't covered those yet, and he didn't want to end up like Professor Lockhart.  Harry's fondest wish was that Saturday had never happened.  It was bad enough that he remembered it.  To talk about it… the humiliation…  It was almost unbearable.

But Dumbledore was staring at him with those deep azure eyes… hypnotic in their own way.  He could not refuse what the headmaster was pressing him to say.  He dug his nails into his palms so tightly that it hurt.  He took a deep breath and…

"**…**"

"**…**"

"**…**"

"…Sir… I… I can't."

"Harry…"

"No, sir.  You don't understand.  I _can't_!  I literally can't!" The boy looked extremely flustered.  "I—I know what happened.  I'm trying to tell you… but every time I do… I forget it.  It's in my head right now, but if I try to… there!  It's gone again!  What's happening?"

Dumbledore tapped his lip thoughtfully.

"Hm.  Have you told anyone else, Harry?"

The boy shook his head.  "No one's asked, except Sirius.  I couldn't remember then either, but I thought it was because I was so tired."

Professor Dumbledore seemed to draw into himself for a moment.

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, my boy.  I will consider a way to rectify the situation."

"Do you know what's happening?"

"Perhaps.  But for now, it's best not to dwell on it.  You are still excused from classes until Monday.  You may wish to use the afternoon to get caught up on the lessons that you've missed.  I believe Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have left you your assignments in your dorm room."

He'd done it again.  He was hiding something.  Harry had a feeling that Dumbledore knew _exactly_ what was happening to him.  But for his own reasons, was keeping it to himself.

Harry found it extremely frustrating to trust someone so much, who yielded so little.  But he did trust him.  If for no other reason than he had to.

It didn't mean he had to like it.

"It that all sir?"  He stood up to leave.

"Yes, Harry, save for one thing.  Would you mind having a conversation with Mr. Longbottom…"

*~*~*~*~*

"S-s-so this is where the big dog was?"

"Don't worry, Neville.  Fluffy's gone with Hagrid.  It's perfectly safe."

"Well, I wouldn't say perfectly safe, Hermione," Ron said.  "Ole greasy's gonna be there isn't he?"

"Snape?!  What business has he got in the Order?"

Ron shrugged.  "Fawkes must've had a reason."

"So, Snape's in but Percy doesn't get a feather.  You guys sure that bird knows what he's doing?" George questioned.

The six Gryffindors stopped in the long corridor leading to the Order's meeting chamber.  It was Saturday.  Five to one in the afternoon.  They had all been commanded to appear to take their places in the semi-clandestine group.  After an unusually quiet lunch, the Hogwarts trio, the twins, Ginny and Neville made their way up to the third floor.  George's question made them take pause.

Percy Weasley was apparently the only one in his immediate family not presented with a feather from Fawkes.  The Weasley's had not really spoken of it until now.  It was uncomfortable for them to believe that Percy, no matter how standoffish he may be, was being left out of something of such importance.

"I'm sure it's nothing personal George," Harry answered.  "It's probably because of his work at the Ministry."

"Dad works at the Ministry."

"Yeah, but he doesn't idolize it, like Perc does," Ron said.

George was forced to agree with this.  Even though his idol Barty Crouch was dead, Percy was still under the impression that the Ministry could do no wrong.  The rest of his family felt otherwise.

The group continued to the metal door at the end of the corridor.  Harry knocked, and after a moment, the door opened.  All attempts at hiding their nervousness failed them and they stood in the doorway like penguins waiting for the first one to fall into the icy water.

"Come in children.  This is not the time for shyness," Dumbledore's kind voice greeted them.  Harry was the first to step forward and the others followed close behind.

They filed in and up the left side of the room as Dumbledore indicated, and moved to stand in front of a large black cauldron where the stone table had been.  The experience was reminiscent of their approach to the sorting hat.  

The room was filled with people, many that Harry recognized, a few he did not. Sirius and Remus were of course present.  Harry saw Neville looking nervously at his godfather.  Dumbledore had asked Harry to explain Sirius's situation to the boy, as the Weasley family already knew.  Neville had been stunned, but trusted Harry and did his best to quell the fear of this man that had been imbedded in him.  Molly, and Arthur Weasley were there, as were Bill and Charlie. Professors Fletcher and Figg, Sprout, McGonagall, Flitzwick, and of course, Snape stood in various positions throughout the room.  Harry was surprised to see Madame Rosmerta, the proprietor of the Three Broomsticks there.  The rest of the witches and wizards, who numbered around ten, Harry did not know.

"I trust you all remembered to bring your feathers," Dumbledore said.

It couldn't be helped that the majority of eyes in the room fell on young Longbottom.  Unaware, he reached into his robes and pulled out his fiery red feather.  The others followed in suit.

"Excellent," Dumbledore continued. "I would ask that you each step forward and place your feather into the cauldron."

Fred stepped forward first and placed his feather into the cauldron.  The black liquid, which lay within immediately, absorbed the feather.  George was next, followed by Ginny, Neville, and then Hermione.  Ron looked at Harry before stepping forward.  His feather was absorbed and he turned to look at his friend.

Harry looked down at the feather in his hand.

**_"…You always have a choice, Harry…"_**

The boy-who-lived stepped forward and inserted his feather.  He stepped back as it was absorbed.

Suddenly, there was a high singing sound and the cauldron began to emit slivers of light through cracks appearing in the surface of the liquid.  The singing grew louder and the cauldron flashed a beautiful beam of light.  The singing was now deafening, or at least it would have been if it weren't so beautiful and soothing.  It filled the chamber.  The light began to strobe and suddenly, in a flurry of fiery red and gold feathers, Fawkes emerged from the cauldron, singing all the while.  He made a wide circle of the room before coming to rest on Dumbledore's shoulder.

"The Order is complete," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling as they never had before.  He pointed his wand towards the cauldron and it transfigured back into the stone table.

This seemed to be some sort of signal because all of the adults in the room moved to take their seats.  The six Gryffindors were left to take the six seats that remained in the front row to the right of the table.

Professor Dumbledore began the meeting.

He outlined their objectives, all of which really boiled down to one: the downfall of Voldemort.

Harry discovered that several of the people who he didn't recognize were Aurors, who were there without the knowledge or consent of the Minister of Magic.  He wasn't too surprised.  It was commonly known that most people would have preferred Albus Dumbledore in the position of Minister, than Fudge.  Numerous witches and wizards would be willing to follow him at a moment's notice.  They would need that faith in the coming days.

They were each given parchment with certain codes and signals, which they would have to memorize quickly.  The parchment would burn up in four hours, and they were not permitted to write them down anywhere else.  Neville looked rather nervous at this, which was understandable as he often had difficulty memorizing the quick changing passwords of Gryffindor tower.

The members of the group received their initial assignments on folded pieces of temporary parchment.

Harry and his fellow students sat quietly throughout the meeting, taking in what they could and mentally listing questions for later.  The meeting was drawing to a close, when the headmaster finally turned his attention to them.

"Some of us will meet here in one month's time, to discuss our progress.  Others, we shall only see in the field.  To them I wish you good luck.

"As for our students, they will be matched with certain members for specific training."

Dumbledore was now looking poignantly at the six students.

"First of all, Miss Granger…" Hermione sat more erect.  "To begin with, you will be working with Professor Flitwick."  Hermione nodded to the charms professor in acknowledgement.

"Neville, you will work with Professor Sprout."

Neville smiled in the direction of the plump herbologist.

"Fred and George…"

The twins sat up and grinned.

"You will be working with Mr. Black."

The grins disappeared.  The boys looked somewhat awkwardly towards the former convict who was whispering something to Professor Lupin.  They knew that he was innocent, but it was still nerve wracking to know you would be working with the only wizard _ever_ to escape Azkaban.

"Miss Weasley, you will be working with Professor Fletcher."

Harry did not miss the mild scowl that passed over Arthur Weasley's face.  He had been witness to a few of Mr. Weasley's rants about Mundungus's attempted schemes and his unpredictable behaviour.  He could not be pleased that his daughter would be working with him, but knew that there had to be a purpose behind it.

Dumbledore continued, a slight smile on his face.  "Ron, to start with, I'm afraid you will have to put up with working with me."

Ron's eyes were saucers.  His mouth worked silently for a moment, and he dipped his head as a deep blush crept across his face.

Harry smiled at him until Dumbledore called his own name.

"Harry, you will be working with Professor Snape."

Five pairs of eyes to Harry's immediate left shot in his direction, each as wide as Ron's had been.  Harry looked from them to Sirius, who was sitting with a set scowl on his face, before finally looking towards the Potions Master.  Snape cast a quick glance in Harry's direction before turning back to Dumbledore.

"These assignments," the headmaster continued, "will likely change later on.  Right now you have been matched with people who will help you with your strongest individual talents."

Talents?! Harry's mind screamed.  His talents weren't in potions!  As much as he hated to the responsibility of it, his greatest talent lay within defence against the dark arts.  He should be working with Professor Lupin, or at the very least, Professor Figg.  What was Dumbledore thinking?!

"I suggest that the students meet with their trainers after the meeting, to work out a schedule.  And unless there are any statements or questions…" He waited and looked around at the group.  No one seemed to have anything to say… or they felt that this wasn't the time to say it.  "I declare this first meeting of The Order of the Phoenix, concluded.  May Merlin watch over us all."

The entrance door to the chamber opened and many of the people that Harry didn't recognize left.  Everyone else rose and seemed to migrate into small groups to chat.  Neville made his way over to the beckoning Professor Sprout.  Ginny walked over to Mundungus and soon found her father at her side as well.  Professor Dumbledore came over to the remaining students.

"Professor, sir, are you sure you didn't make a mistake?"  Ron asked him.  "I don't know what you could possibly be training me in.  Not to say you couldn't train me in anything, but I don't really see that there's anything that I'm especially good at…" Ron finished, his last words trailing off quietly.  The red had returned to his face.

Professor Dumbledore beamed at him.  "Is that so, Mr. Weasley.  Seems to me I remember a certain chess game played by a first year.  Spectacular game really.  Few wizards in the world could have done what this wizard did.  And here he's had four years to improve."

Ron's blush deepened and he scratched his head in embarrassment.

"I don't see how playing chess will be of much help to the Order, sir," he said quietly.

"Of course it will, Ron!" Hermione said.  "Strategy.  Chess is all about strategy.  That's your strength."

"Perceptive as always, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a smile.  "Yes, Ron.  We will be working on your strategy skills.  You have a gift.  We are going to put it to use."

"Th—thank you, sir."

"I'm afraid, despite what I've said, I won't be able to discuss a work schedule with you right now.  I have other matters to attend to at the moment.  Will you be available to come to my office later this evening.  Shall we say, 8:30?"

"Of course, sir.  I'll be there."

"Then I must bid good afternoon to you all,"  he said with a smile, then turned and swept out of the room.

Professor Flitwick came over to claim Hermione as the twins each beat Ron on the back in congratulations.  Their little brother, in their opinion, had hit the jackpot in trainers.  Harry, on the other hand, had apparently hit the bottom of the barrel.

"Mr. Potter," came a sharp voice from behind the boys.  They turned to come face to face with the school's Potions master.

"You will meet me in my office at 9:00pm tonight.  We have things to discuss."

"Yessir," Harry replied flatly.

Snape left without another word, his black robes billowing behind him.

"What was Dumbledore thinking?"  Ron asked, when he was sure the Potions master had completely gone.

"I don't know, Ron..."

"As if you haven't been through enough this week!"

Harry stiffened.  Ron's eyes widened.

"Harry," he apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I mean…"

"It's okay, Ron.  It _has_ been a bad week. It's almost over."

"Hey, boys!"  Sirius's cheerful voice interrupted.  Harry turned to see his godfather and Remus Lupin smiling at them.

"Hey, Sirius. Professor."

"I'm sorry about Snape, Harry," Sirius began.  "But there is a reason for it.  I can't discuss it with you, but there is a reason."

"I understand," Harry replied, now more curious than ever.

"Fred and George Weasley.  A pleasure to finally meet you."

"I-it is?"  Fred asked.

"I've heard much about you.  About your exploits."

The twins shot Ron and Harry a wicked look, which seemed to go unnoticed by Sirius.

"…It's does our hearts good," he continued, motioning to Remus and himself, "to see the Marauders' spirit alive and well at Hogwarts."

The twins looked stunned.

"You--You know about the Marauders?"

Twin grins of mischiefness crept up on the faces of Black and Lupin.

"Harry… you mean you never told them?" Professor Lupin admonished teasingly.

Harry shrugged.  "Didn't think it was my place to."

"Well, would you be so kind as to make the introductions?" he asked.

"Of course," Harry responded. "Fred.  Geor--"

"WAIT!"  Ron exclaimed.  He ran behind the two men and stood between them, his arms resting on their shoulders.  "I want a good seat for this one.  Bugger!  I should have brought a camera!"

"Language, Ron…"

"Sorry, Professor."

George began to question the strange behaviour of his younger brother.  "What are you on about, Ro--"

"Ssssshhh!  Go on, Harry," Ron prompted.

Harry snorted and turned back to the twins.

"Fred and George Weasley, it is my proud privilage to introduce you to Messers Moony and Padfoot… two of the founding members of Hogwarts' own Marauders."

**…**

**…**

Harry decided that Ron had been right.  They should have brought a camera.  It wouldn't have even mattered if it were a muggle camera.  The twins had turned into identical statues.  It was as though they had been petrified by a Basilisk.

Their mouths hung open.  Their eyes were saucers fixed on the faces of the men who stood before them.  Ron was grinning like an idiot.

Harry waved a hand in front of their eyes to no effect.  He snapped a couple of time: Nothing.

"Er… Fred… George…"

Fred found his voice (at least some of it) first.  

"…Are… Are you… Are you really…"

"At your disservice," Sirius smirked as both he and Professor Lupin gave synchronically dramatic bows.

The next reaction from the twins was surprising, but no less amusing.

Fred and George looked at each other for an instant, before simultaneously dropping to their knees and folding their hands… prostrating themselves in front of the Marauders.

"Teach us…"

"Mold us…"

"We are your humble servants…"

"We'll do _anything_ you ask…"

"Share your wisdom…"

"We only want to learn…"

"We're not worthy…"

"Great Masters…"

By now, other people in the room were observing the odd display.  Ron had stumbled into a chair and was laughing so hard that no sound was coming out. Tears streaked his face.  Harry had an arm wrapped around his own stomach and another hand covered his eyes as he laughed silently at the spectacle.  Sirius and Remus didn't know what to do when the boys had dropped to their knees.  It was most unexpected.  They knew the twins were fans, but this was boarderline worship.  Stunned, Remus was able to pull out of his amused shock first as it appeared that Fred was about to lean forward to kiss the hem of his robes.

"Now, now, boys… that's quite enough, thanks you," he said.  "I think you'd better stand up now."

"We're not worthy to stand in the presence of such mischiefull masterfulness." George said his head still bowed.

'THUD'

Ron had rolled off of his chair and was now curled up on the floor holding his stomach in wonderful agony.

"Ron, Breathe.  BREATHE, Ron!" Harry prompted, smacking his cachinnating friend on the back.

Ron drew in a deep shaky breath.

"Oh… Oh, this is too much!  This is Christmas and Birthday all rolled into one!" he croaked.

"Ronald Aaron Weasley!  Get off the floor this instant!  You too Fred and George.  Honestly!  The sight of you! And in front of your professors!"

Molly Weasley had made her way over with her two eldest sons trailing close behind her.  She looked furious at her three youngest boys.  Behind her, Bill and Charlie were trying desperately to mask their own laughter.

"It's not their fault, Molly," Remus explained.  "Sirius was just cracking a few jokes.  Got the boys hair up a bit.  No harm done."

"Just trying to lighten the mood some," Sirius added.  "Sorry if it went to far."

Mrs. Weasley looked as though she were going to say something in retort, but Sirius flipped the lock of hair that was falling into his eye and flashed her an knee melting smile.  She sputtered slightly trying to remember what it was she was going to say.

"W-well… alright then.  Just… boys, please try to remember this is an important Order.  Try to conduct yourselves a little better."

"Yes'm," all three answered in unison still smiling.  Charlie's resolve broke, but he covered his laugh with a fake cough, which Bill was forced to imitate only moments later.  Molly wasn't fooled.

"Honestly!  The lot of you!"  She said walking away, shaking her head.  "Would you were all girls…"

"She always says that," Charlie said.  "As if that would make things better.  Ginny's worse that all of us when she gets started.

"Speaking o' which," Bill cut it.  "It looks like dad is getting ready to pop Mundungus one.  We'd better get over there.  Cheers."

Both he and Charlie made their way towards their father (whose fists were tightly balled at his sides) and sister (who was covering her face and wearily shaking her head).

"So you're really Moony and Padfoot?" Fred asked, quickly turning his attention back to his idols.

"If we say yes, do you promise to stay off the floor?"

"Can't promise, but we'll try."

Sirius sighed.  "Then yes.  We are."

George shook his head.  "Unnnbelievable…."

"So where are Prongs and Wormtail?"

Everyone other than George grimaced at Fred's question.

"Uh… Prongs… Prongs was my dad," Harry explained.

"Really!  Oh!  Sorry, Harry."

"S'alright, Fred."

"And Wormtail lived in our house for twelve years," Ron said bitterly.  "He was Scabbers."

"I thought you said Peter Petigrew was Scabbers."

"He was.  One in the same."

"A _Marauder_ went over to You-Know-Who?" George asked indignantly.

"Kinda took us by surprise too," Sirius said in a sour tone.

"Can we talk about something else?" Harry asked.  "Sirius, why are Gred and Forge working with you?"

"Gred and Forge, is it?"

"Our nicknames," George explained.

"Good show.  Well," Sirius rubbed his hands together.  "What we're going to be doing is putting some of your… er… _imaginative_ skills to work.  Security and weapons.  You're going to help me think up things that will make the Death Eaters lives, shall we say… a little less pleasant…"

Fred and George's identical mouths began to slowly stretch into a darker version of their trademark mischievous grins.

And somewhere inside Harry, (a very, very, very small part) began to feel just a little bit (a tinsy, tiny, iddle, widdle bit) sorry for the Death Eaters.

*~*~*~*~*

At promptly 9:00pm, Harry knocked on the door of Professor Snape's office.

"Come in," the teacher's voice came sharply.

Harry opened the door and closed it behind him.  Snape was sitting at his desk writing on a long piece of parchment.  He neither looked up nor acknowledged Harry.

Harry stood patiently and silently on the other side of the desk.  Snape continued his writing.

After nearly a minute of silence, Harry rolled his eyes and removed a small pouch from his robes.  He plopped it on Snape's desk and the slight jingle caused the professor to finally halt his ministrations.  He raised an eyebrow at his student.

"For the Loverra Oil," Harry explained.

Snape shook his head and went back to his writing.  "Do your eyes work at all, Mr. Potter?  The Oil has been replaced."

Harry looked to the stores cabinet, which was open.  There indeed sat a new jar of the healing ointment.

"Then this should pay for it," Harry continued.

Professor Snape pushes the pouch back towards Harry with the back of his hand. "The school has a budget, Mr. Potter.  Keep your money."

Harry stored the pouch back into the pocket of his robes.

Snape motioned with the quill in his hand.  "Sit."

Harry took the offered seat and waited.  The Potions Master wrote for several seconds more before returning the quill to its cache.  He held the parchment out to Harry.

"Memorize those.  Take them to heart and understand them."

Harry looked down at the parchment:

_Chapter 2_

_It is because every one under Heaven recognizes beauty_

_          as beauty, that the idea of ugliness exists._

_And equally if every one recognized virtue as virtue,_

_          this would merely create fresh conceptions of_

_          wickedness._

_For truly 'Being and Not-being grow out of one_

_          another;_

_Difficult and easy complete one another._

_Long and short test one another;_

_High and low determine one another._

_Pitch and mode give harmony one another._

_Front and back give sequence to one another'._

_Therefore the Sage relies on actionless activity,_

_Carries on wordless teaching,_

_But the myriad creatures are worked upon by him; he_

_          does not disown them._

_He rears them, but does not lay claim to them,_

_Controls them, but does not lean upon them,_

_Achieves his aim, but does not call attention to what_

_          he does;_

_And for the very reason that he does not call attention_

_          to what he does_

_He is not ejected from fruition of what he has done._

_Chapter 27_

_Perfect activity leaves no track behind it;_

_Perfect speech is like a jade-worker whose tool leaves_

_          no mark._

_The perfect reckoner needs no counting-slips;_

_The perfect door has neither bolt nor bar,_

_Yet cannot be opened._

_The perfect knot needs neither rope nor twine,_

_Yet cannot be untied._

_Therefore the Sage_

_Is all the time in the most perfect way helping me,_

_He certainly does not turn his back on men,_

_Is all the time in the most perfect way of helping creatures,_

_He certainly does not turn his back on creatures._

_This is called restoring to the Light._

_Truly, 'the perfect man is the teacher of the imperfect;_

_But the imperfect is the stock-in-trade of the perfect_

_          man'._

_He who does not respect his teacher,_

_He who does not take care of his stock-in-trade,_

_Much learning though he may possess, is far astray._

_This is the essential secret._

"Two passages from Tao Te Ching, by Lao Tzu."  Snape handed him a small leather bound book.  It had both English and Chinese characters embossed on the front in silver lettering.  "I suggest you read the entire thing.  It won't take very long.  But those two passages I've written out for you I insist that you memorize."

Harry nodded.  "I-I've heard of this.  Isn't this a muggle book?"

"And your point?"

He shrugged.  "No point.  Just wondering."

"You will find, Mr. Potter, that working with me will go much more smoothly if your wonderings were a little more constructive."

"No, offence sir, but why _am_ I working with you?  I mean.  I get okay marks in potions, but it's not my best subject—"

"I will _not_ be training you in potions, Mr. Potter."

"…What then?" he dared.

Snape stretched his left hand to the side, his black eyes never leaving Harry's.  There was a shifting from one of the bookshelves. Two large bound volumes rose slightly into the air.  The larger book beneath them dislodged itself and flew to the professor's hand.  The former two gently rested back into place.  He held the book he'd retrieved, not allowing Harry to see the cover.

"You don't seem surprised."

"About what?"

"About my retrieval of this book."

Harry shrugged.  "Should I be?"

"Were you any other young wizard in this school, yes."

Harry knitted his brow.  He didn't understand but knew that he must have missed something.

"Where is my wand, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked around.  An ebony coloured wand of about twelve inches lay next to a small brass box on the Professor's desk.  Harry pointed.

"There," he said plainly.

"Did I use it to retrieve this book?"

"No."

"And this does not seem unusual to you?"

Harry sighed.  They were going around in circles.  "No.  It doesn't.  Why should it?  It's just a book."

Snape tapped the small brass box that his wand was next to.

"Summon this box… _without_ your wand."

"Accio box."

**…**

Nothing happened.

"Forget the words, Potter.  Just bring it to you."

Harry looked from him to the box.  He focussed on the box.  He imagined it flying through the air.  He imagined what it would feel like being stopped by his hand.  And in that next instant, it happened.  He held the box out.

"Happy?"

Snape took the box from him and returned it to its rightful place.

"How long have you had your wand, Mr. Potter?"

"Five years."

Snape sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

"Wizards and Witches are all born with a certain level of wandless magic," he started. "The summoning spell is the most common of them all.  There is also protective magic… things to get you out of difficult situations.  Most of these things are done unconsciously.  They arrive out of a momentary need."

Harry nodded, remembering several instances before he knew that he was a wizard, like the time he'd wound up on the roof, running from Dudley and his goons, or the time Jones Dentar had taken his glasses, and he'd suddenly found them back in his hands again.

"These minor abilities stay with a wizard throughout his life, but remain for the most part unconscious and under desperate situations.  The exception to this is the summoning of a wand, which can become second nature."

Again Harry nodded.  This was boring him nearly as much as Professor Binns class… Okay, he thought. Maybe not that bad, but close.

"Professor Dumbledore is under the impression that you may possess wandless talent _beyond_ that level.  He mentioned something about an aunt of yours…"

Harry grimaced and slid down a little in his seat.  He didn't like to think of the last time Aunt Marge had visited.  The things she'd said about his parents.  The things _he'd_ done.

"But that… that was… an accident.  I mean, she got me so mad, that I just… acted."

Snape sat forward suddenly.  "But you _meant_ to do it, didn't you?  Even in your anger, you meant to use the Engorgement charm and an Inflatable."

"Yes."

"It was also reported that there was magic used to break open a cupboard or closet or some such."

"My cupboard.  My school trunk was locked in there."

"And your wand?"

"And my wand."

"Mr. Potter, those acts go beyond protective instinct.  You were in no immediate danger.  You actively used a charm.  Three in fact.  By all accounts, you should not have been able to do that. That combination charm you shouldn't have been able to do _at all_ at that age."

"No?"

"No."

Harry rested his forehead on his hand and sighed.  "Not another one…"

"Another what, Mr. Potter?"

Harry waved his free hand absently.  "Boy-who-lived, parselmouth, Voldemort fighting… all that stuff!  Now this?!"

"I would have thought you would be happy to add to your _magnificent profile_," Snape said with disdain.

Harry gave him a flat gaze.  "Fame isn't everything."

"You would do well to remember that in the coming months."

The student rolled his eyes.

"The ability to do wandless magic at an advanced level is extremely rare, but those who have mastered it, find it more powerful than magic _with_ a wand.  To harness that power takes a great deal of study and training.  This, Mr. Potter, is what you will be learning with me."

"…You have that ability."

"Yes."

"Then why do you still use your wand?"

Snape leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair.

"Two reasons.  The first:  Knowledge is power.  Until recently, Professor Dumbledore was the only person living who knew that I have this ability.  Now, because of you, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black also know, and have been sworn to secrecy by the headmaster.  This ability is my… back up.  My insurance."  He leaned forward again and stressed his words.  "And I would prefer it to remain that way, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir."

Snape picked up the book he had summoned.

"The second reason, Mr. Potter, you will find in the first chapter of this book."  He handed the tome to Harry.  "You will return here in two days.  Have the first two chapters read by then."

Harry looked at the book in his hands.  'Virgasine' was written in small letters near the bottom right hand corner.

"Wandless," Harry murmured.

"Indeed."

"Do _I_ have to keep this secret?"

"That would be your choice, Mr. Potter.  Your knowledge, your power.  If you wish to share with your _friends_…" he drawled, "That is up to you.  May you not live to regret it.  Just make certain, that my abilities remain secret.  Tell them there was no one else available to teach you, if you must.  I'm sure they are dying to know why you are being saddled with my presence."

Harry chewed his lip.

"Sir?  Why couldn't I call the box the first time by saying Accio?"

"You could have, had I not been holding it down with my own abilities.  I needed to see if you could do it, beyond a simple lift."

"I see."

"I believe you have some reading to do, Mr. Potter."

Harry stood up to leave, but was stopped as Snape spoke again.

"One more thing.  Do try to remember that this is business of the Order.  It would be beneficial if the rest of the school was not aware of our meetings.  After all, you and I have a certain… reputation, with regards to each other.  Am I understood?"

"Perfectly sir."

"Then good-night."

The young Gryffindor left the office and headed back to his tower.  He wondered just how powerful Professor Snape really was.  He was always so secretive and guarded.

Harry had many questions.  Could Professor Dumbledore use wandless magic?  If not, did that mean that Snape had more power than him?  What about Voldemort?  The possibilities were making Harry's head spin, and he knew, despite Madame Pomfrey's instructions, he would be getting little sleep that night.

*~*~*~*~*

Professor Snape swept through the empty halls of Hogwarts on his nightly rounds.  Two Ravenclaws would be polishing trophies for the next week.  Other than that, the school was quiet.

"Snape!"

Or not.

"What do you want, Black?"  Snape stopped walking to allow Sirius to catch up.

"You met with Harry tonight."

"I did."

"Well?"

"Well what, Black?  Stop wasting my time!"

Sirius stared at him hard.

"Dumbledore wants him to work with you.  I can't prevent that.  But the boy's been through enough this week--"

"I am perfectly aware of what the boy has been through," he said shortly.

"…I don't want him hurt."

"I can all but guarantee that harm _will_ come to Mr. Potter.  _My_ job is to make sure that harm is minimal."

"And I'm sure you'll put all your heart into that," Sirius spat.

"I may not be a grand Gryffindor, Black," the Professor said steadily.  "But when I give my word to do something, I do it."

"Everyone knows how much you hate Harry. Why would you care what happens to him?"

"It's true, I've never made a secret of my dislike of Mr. Potter, but unlike _some_ people," Snape curled, his voice rising, "just because I dislike someone, does not mean I wish to see them hurt, maimed or _dead_."

Sirius flinched despite himself.  He would never admit it, but Snape had a very good point.

"If there's nothing further…" Snape turned on his heal and stormed off.

tbc…

***********************************************************************************************

**Vultur Non Capit Muscam** - The Eagle Does Not Catch Flies 

**Noceo** – inflict injury, do harm

**Protractus** - to draw out

**Expecto** – banish

**Livor** – malice

***Dabtihs Annog** – (pronounced 'Dab-ti-s An-og') -a potion I invented.  If you want to know what it does, turn the letters around like with the Mirror of Erised and loose the capitals. It's actually three words. ;) Get it? :)

**A/N**: Although I do enjoy abusing Harry stories, what he has gone through in up to this point, the pain and suffering, it _does_ have significance and _will_ be important later on in the story. My madness does have some reason to it. (Not a lot, but some…)

I really wish the "Search" indicator gave you three choices.  This story will come up under Angst/General – Harry and Sirius, but Severus should also be there.  I kept going back and forth as to whether to put Snape or Black down.  I might need to change it depending on how the middle of the story pans out. (I already know the ending.)  Actually, I think I am going to change the Severus, Sirius indicator.  But Sirius is still gonna be a big part of this story and have his own situations.

Well, it's my birth-month so here's your present.  Hope ya like it!

Okay, this chapter is what I call my foundation chapter.  The first was the intro.  This one lets you know things you are going to need to know in future chapters.  That's why it's not that good and kinda dull.  Sorry.

SO MANY REVIEWS!  FIFTY-ONE ON THE FIRST DAY!!! WOW!  Thanks everyone!  It did help!

I do want to clarify something, though.  When I said reviews are like fuel, I didn't mean I was going to wait around until I got a certain number before I wrote the next part.  No, no, no!  I write everyday.  Most of the day actually.  If I'm not at work, I take some time to read fanfic and the rest of the day is spent writing.  (So basically I have no life.)  This is the most structured story I've ever written.  I do know what's going to happen, but at the same time it develops and changes daily in my mind.  I've been writing Chapter two since I finished Chapter One.  Actually, I wrote some of it while I was writing Chapter One.  I've already started on chapter three and have many scenes from future chapters already written.

And now some responses to some of the questions I've been asked.

Why did this so long?  Aspects of this story keep changing in my head. (Which is already a restricted zone.).  For example, that scene with Remus and Severus… that was originally supposed to be Sirius.  But it didn't really seem to fit the characters and it _definitely_ didn't fit with that conversation at the end of the chapter.  I also have to decide which ideas to keep in this story and which ones to leave for other Harry stories writing themselves in my head. (Oh, yes.  There will be more.)  I also had trouble putting the whole 'wandless' intro into words.  It's in my head, it just won't squeeze out.  I just had a new plot inspiration today that will appear later on and I can't wait to write it!  I'm really trying to stay true to the characters while at the same time trying to progress them.  Characters need to grow and it's a lot harder than it sounds.  I want to give you the best that I can, and sometimes that's gonna take time.  I could always rush and just upload and go back and change things later, but I hate when authors do that, so I'm striving not to do that. (It's a worst case, cannot be avoided in any circumstance scenario.)

What happened to Harry? – _Yes_, you will find out.  Just not now. :)

Sebastian is not really Harry's pet.  He's a friend who (if this plotline in my head works) will become more important later on.  For now, as you can see, he's a bit of a confidant for Harry.  I mean… who's he gonna tell… right? :)

And finally, dare I ask you to review?  :)

I'm off to work on three!


	3. How Did We Get Here?

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

**Harry Potter and the Spirits Within**

**by Gates**

**Chapter Three:  How Did We Get Here?**

She wasn't looking at herself.  Not really.  She just stared into the reflective surface of the vanity mirror repeatedly brushing her dusky blond hair.  It was shorter than it was the last time he'd seen it; stopping just above the crook where her shoulder met her slender neck.  She wondered if he liked it.

Stop it! She told herself.  It didn't matter whether or not he liked it.  It didn't matter whether or not he'd even noticed.  He hadn't so much as looked at her once in the four weeks she'd been at the school.  Good, she told herself.  He'll stick to his business and I'll stick to mine.  We're at war.  There are more important things to worry about than Sirius Black.

So why can't I stop thinking about him.

She rested her brush in her lap.  She had to stop this.  She'd spent too many years…  She had to stop this.

"You look lovely, dear," the mirror spoke, drawing her out of her revelry.

Arabella smiled.  "I doubt anyone will care."

"Oh, I think he will."

"He who?"

"_He, whomever it is you're mooning over.  I'm almost four hundred years old dear.  I know that look.  So who is it?"_

She stood up.  "I'm afraid you're mistaken.  There's no one."

She picked up her deep red robes and her wand (mahogany, eight inches) and headed for the door.

"Where are you going dear?  It's late!"

"For a walk." Away from you, she thought.  Know-it-all talking mirrors.  One of the few things she _hadn't missed about the wizarding world._

*~*~*~*~*

Several minutes later, Arabella found herself wandering around the edge of the lake.  More specifically, a little nook where several large smooth boulders formed a cozy quiet place, out of the direct view of everyplace else.  It was place she knew well.  She and Sirius had spent many a warm evening snogging in the soft grass or talking about their futures. The memory brought a smile to her lips, despite her general feeling of melancholia.

She sat down in the little nook and leaned against one of the smooth stones.  Sighing, she resigned herself to the fact that her mind wanted to think about Sirius Black.  About the good times, about the friendships with the Marauders and Lilly.  That short time after graduation when the whole world seemed perfect… war or no war.  But the good memories, no matter how intense, always led back to… the others…

*~*~*~*~*

**"He's going to hurt you."**

**"What?"**

**"End it.  End your relationship with this boy.  He will cause you heartache like you will never know."**

**Ara, (as her close friends called her, so as not to confuse her with her mother), dropped her hands into her lap.  Her mother had insisted that she come home for the Christmas Holidays that year, her last at Hogwarts.  She had just opened her present from Sirius: a gold necklace with a carved pendant of a large raven with its wings rapped around a lion.  The symbol of their two houses intertwined, as they had become in recent months.**

**She loved him.  There was no doubt in her heart about that.  She was in love with Sirius Black.  And for all his joking and wild ways, she was certain that he loved her too.**

**And now her mother wanted her to break up with him?**

**"Mum, what are you talking about?  Sirius would never hurt me."**

**"He will.  I have foreseen it."**

**Ara angrily rose to her feet.  "Mother!  I told you!  I told you I don't want you scrying into my life!  My future is my business!  You have no right…"**

**"It was not ****your**** future that came to me.  It was the future of another.  This boy's path has crossed into it.  It was here I saw that he will cause you pain."**

**She shook her head.  "No.  You're wrong.  YOU'RE WRONG!  You've been wrong before and you're wrong now!"**

**"In the past, intervening factors have altered the outcomes.  It is why I am intervening now.  You are my life and I love you.  I don't want to see you hurt.  If you stay with this boy your world will end.  I will loose you.  You will loose yourself.  You will suffer…"**

**"So that's it!  You're afraid Sirius is going to take me away from you?  That I'll run away with him?  Mother, Sirius isn't like that.  And even if he were, I am not!  You have to trust me--"**

**"I do trust you!  This is not about trust!  This is about you!  I don't want to see you hurt!"**

**"Well, you're hurting me now mother so I suggest you close your eyes!"**

**With that the younger witch stormed away to her bedroom locking and charming the door behind her.**

**"He'll never hurt me," she muttered to herself.  "Never."**

*~*~*~*~*

Arabella picked up a small stone from the base of the bolder.  She skimmed it sideways across the lake's surface, which was only a few feet away.  It touched three times before sinking into the mysterious depths.  She'd done better.  James had taught her better.  It was only after several years that she discovered it was Lily who had taught it to him.  Something her father had taught her when she was a little girl.

She briefly wondered if Harry knew how to skim rocks.  It wasn't a common wizarding activity.  And she doubted that those so-called 'relatives' of his would have taken the time to show him.  She set it in her mind that when she found the time, she would pass on what his parents had shown her.  The boy had so little of them.  She was sure he'd want to learn.

She owed them that much.

An Auror.  Not only an Auror, but a detector… a lay-gift of her mother's seeing talent.  The future, she couldn't see.  The present… things that were happening elsewhere at that very moment… that was her special talent.

So why couldn't she have seen the truth?

Why couldn't she have seen what was happening, right under her nose…

*~*~*~*~*~*

**"Ms. Figg…"**

**"I'm trying! I'm trying!"**

**"You've been ****trying**** for forty minutes."**

**"Shut it, Allen!  You're not helping!"**

**Ara closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingers.  She exhaled deeply and tried to concentrate, tried to ignore her fellow Aurors who were waiting for her to do what she did best.**

**"Why is this taking so long?  She's never taken this long!" Gavin Peters whined.**

**"You ****know**** it's always more difficult for a detector to pick up on someone that they know. Emotions cloud the sight.**

**"And maybe she just doesn't want to find him."**

**"What's that supposed to mean?" Arabella demanded.  She had dropped her arms and was staring daggers at Jason Allen.  He'd always been on her case about every little thing, since the day she'd been accepted into the Auror ranks.  She'd been accepted straight out of Hogwarts.  He had to apply three times before he was allowed to train.  She did not need his attitude today.**

**She'd been woken up in the middle of the night to find that two of her closest friends had been murdered.  The fact that Voldemort was rumoured to be dead was of little comfort to her at the moment.**

**"What that means is maybe we ought to have an Auror who ****isn't**** screwing the suspect, work on this!"**

**Arabella clenched her fists and spoke with a forced calm through gritted teeth. "I am perfectly able to separate my relationship with Sirius Black and my work.  And let me remind you that we are only bringing him in to hear his side of this.  He is ****not**** a suspect."**

**"Please!  Dumbledore has already told us that Sirius was the Secret Keeper.  You're ****boyfriend**** gave them up to his master.  He was Voldemort's right hand I bet!"**

**Ara raised her arm, ready to slug her co-worker.  Kevin Mitchell, their superior, grabbed her before she could follow through.**

**"Allen, you're out of line.  Figg, try again."**

**She threw him one more seething glare before closing her eyes again.  This time she managed to tune out Allen's grumbling.**

**Her mind reached, and reached, and reached, for the presence that had become so familiar to her.  Mitchell was right.  Her feelings for Sirius and the Potters were getting in the way.  She reached and reached, and…**

**She could see a street… muggles were all around.**

**Where is he?  Where…?  There he is!**

**Sirius was looking around the street and along the ground.  Searching for something.  Her 'astral' self was standing not to far away from the man.  Only a few metres.  She looked around.  The building marker said: Glover's Street.**

**She was about to report her findings to her comrades when she spotted another familiar figure.**

**Peter Petigrew was across the crowded street.  He was approaching Sirius (unbeknownst to the man) with unusual attentiveness on his face.**

**Sirius must have sensed that someone was approaching.  He became very still.**

**"YOU KILLED JAMES AND LILY!!!"**

**The scene before her began to move very slowly.  Sirius spun around withdrawing his wand as he turned.  He pointed his wand at Peter… at his friend…He spoke some words, but from the rushing sound in her ears, Arabella couldn't hear them.**

**Then the world turned on its axis.  The sound came later.  The explosion was massive.  With muggles standing as close as they were, there would no doubt be casualties.**

**As the rubble lay scattered… along with the bodies and parts of bodies… Peter was nowhere to be seen.**

**…And Sirius… Sirius blinked once.  Then twice at the carnage in front of him.  The side of his mouth began to tug upwards like it did before he flashed her his marvellous grin… He chuckled.  And again.  And he began to laugh in all earnest.**

**Arabella felt herself being shaken.  She blinked several times and she was back inside herself, Mitchell shaking her by her upper arms.**

**"Figg!  We have to go.  Black has just—l"**

**"I saw--- He killed those people--- I saw---" Arabella was in a haze, both from coming out of a seeing, and from what it was she had seen.**

**"We have to go.  Take a minute to collect yourself then join us."**

**"You're leaving her?"**

**"Allen, shut up! Take Peters and go!  Figg, do you understand?  We don't need you splinching yourself."**

**"I understand, sir," she said, focussing on looking him in the eye.**

**Mitchell nodded then stepped back and disapparated.**

**Arabella closed her eyes.**

**This can't be.  This just can't be… I… I have to see it…**

**She took a cleansing breath then apparated to Glover's Street.**

**It was like being tossed back into a nightmare you had just woken up from.  People were screaming and crying.  Most of the muggles had no idea what had happened. The Department of Mind and Memory were already working on those that were close enough to have seen the event.  And her team… they were taking Sirius into custody.**

**He continued to laugh as his wand (now lying at his feet) was confiscated.  He laughed as they placed security bonds on his arms.  He was laughing so hard it looked painful…**

**…And then he looked up and his eyes met hers.**

**The laughter stopped.**

**Mitchell and Peters group-disparated him away.**

*~*~*~*~*

She couldn't read his eyes, she remembered.  Since the first time they'd danced, she'd always been able to read his eyes.  But that day… they seemed dead.  And she'd attributed it to his guilt.

Her mother had been right.  The pain she had felt in her heart at that moment and the days following, was unlike any she had felt before or since.

Her mother was right.  And she hated her for it.

She stopped speaking to the woman from that day forward.

She hated her for being right.

She hated Sirius for breaking her heart.

She hated the entire world…

But he had been innocent all along…

So what did that mean now?

Arabella hugged her legs to herself and rested her head on her knees.

And for the first time in fourteen years… she cried.

*~*~*~*~*

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.  They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.  He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache.  Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours.  The Dursleys had a son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it.  Their greatest wish was that it would just go away…

Two weeks ago it did.

And they've regretted it ever since.

Vernon Dursley leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  He wondered if they would 'remember' to feed them tonight?

"Checkmate!"

"No, Dudley dearest.  Remember, the knight cannot move that way."

"But I want it to!"

"Duddikins, those are the rules."

"Well, I don't like these rules!  I should be able to move the way that I want!  I don't want to play this stupid game anymore.  I want to play checkers!"

"But dearest, we don't have the right board."

"I don't care!"

"There now," Vernon cut in.  "Just pretend the white are red and the black stays as itself.  No harm done."

"Alright then," Petunia agreed, re-arranging the pieces.  "Would you like to go first sweetums?"

Dudley was already picking up the piece formerly known as 'rook'.

Vernon sighed and cast a glance around at his new companions.

He wondered briefly what was happening to his house.

Lousy freaks are probably robbing me blind, he told himself.

How he wanted to be sitting in his grand chair in his living room just then.  Watching the evening news as Petunia put the last touches on a splendid meal.

Instead, he found himself in a 'cell' of sorts, sitting on a hard wooden chair, and wondering if he and his family would ever survive this mess.

It was all the boy's fault.

September 1st, he'd blanched at the yells of his son, Dudley…

*~*~*~*~*

**"Dad!  Dad!  He's gone!  Potter's gone!"**

**Vernon's whale-like son thundered down the stairs. "He's gone, Dad!"**

**It was noon.  Petunia was serving up the tea when Dudley commented that Potter had been unusually quiet that morning.  Vernon grunted and withdrew a door key from his vest pocket.  He'd handed it to his son, telling him to go and discreetly peak in on the freak, to make sure that he wasn't 'up to something'.**

**Vernon looked up from his place at the kitchen table.  "Wuh- What do you mean gone?  He can't be gone.  I locked him in there myself!  Are the bars in place?"**

**Dudley nodded.  Mr. Dursley had installed a set of thick bars over the window of the room Harry stayed in.  They were fastened to the inside of the wall and went well past the windowpane; as to avoid a repeat of the break out the boy had managed during the summer before his second year.**

**"They're still there dad!  The door was closed but it wasn't locked."**

**"Vernon!"**

**"Petunia, I tell you I locked that door!"  Mr. Dursley protested.  Pounding his beefy fist on the table.  The lid of the teapot rattled nervously.**

**There was a creak from the hallway as Dudley opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs without restriction.**

**"This is unlocked too.  His trunk is gone!"**

**The Mr. and Mrs. regarded each other with wide eyes.  "Now you ****_know_**** that door was locked, my dear," Vernon said.**

**"He can't use… that stuff… away from school dad, Dudley continued, coming back into the kitchen. "How did he get these open?"**

**Petunia looked extremely worried.  "Vernon, you don't think that… that… ****_they_****, were here?"**

**Vernon stewed for a moment.  "No.  No, they couldn't have.  Once they saw him they would have… No.  He must have found some other way out."**

**Dudley seemed satisfied with that explanation and shoved three biscuits into his mouth.  Petunia continued to wring her hands for a moment then shakily poured herself another cup of tea.**

**Despite his assurances to his family, Vernon could not rid himself of a growing feeling of dread.  The doors and window were not the boy's only obstacles.  When Mr. Dursley had locked the bedroom door the night before, the boy was… in no condition to travel.  His left leg had been broken just above the knee, Vernon was sure of it.  There was no way, that boy could have walked down the stairs and out of that house.  And if by some strange means he found the strength to drag himself, he would have passed Vernon's bedroom.  He would have heard him, he was certain of it.**

**So how had the boy gotten away?**

**The rest of the day was spent in silent torment.  He refused to let his family worry themselves sick over the likes of Potter and so carried on happily as though all was right with the world.  Monday came and went without incident as well.  Dursley was beginning to feel better about the whole situation.  Surely if something was going to happen, it would have happened already.  The next day he would go to work, Dudley would start school and all would be right with the world.**

**He should have known something was amiss when he spent half the night in the toilet when it wasn't occupied by Petunia or Dudley.**

**The next morning, when he'd visited the loo four times before breakfast, he had begun to suspect that perhaps the boy had somehow poisoned them.  And if it wasn't poison, the stress he had caused the family certainly had to be a contributing factor. He didn't have much time to contemplate the possibility though.  Dudley, in full Smeltings dress had just seated himself at the table, Petunia forking a sausage onto his plate, when there was a lightening bright flash outside of their house.  The three Dursleys simultaneously jumped.  The next instant both front and back doors of the house blew off their hinges and ten (extremely angry looking) wizards marched into the Dursley home, wands at the ready.**

**The family instinctively backed into the closest corner they could find, Petunia, fighting a loosing battle to hide Dudley's ample girth behind her own willow thin body.  Vernon huffed and collected himself.  He would not show fear in front of these freaks.  This was his home and he was having none of it.**

**"Vernon Dursley—" one of the wizards began.**

**"Now see here!  Out!  All of you!  How ****_dare_**** you invade the homes of decent people?  Get out!  Get out now!"**

**"—Petunia Dursley," the wizard continued, ignoring Vernon's protests.  "Dudley Dursley.  You are all being taken into custody--"**

**"We're not going ****_anywhere_**** with the likes of you!"**

**"--by the Ministry of Magic, Department of Muggle Incarceration, under the charge of assault—"**

**"Now see here…"**

**"--with severe malice on an under-aged wizard, one Harold James Potter.  Further charges may be added at a later time.  You will surrender peacefully, or we will resort to using force."**

**Vernon picked a butcher's knife up from its block.  His eyes narrowed angrily.  He spoke with venom.**

**"You. ****_Freaks_****… Are not taking me ****_or_**** my family… ****_anywhere_****.  Just turn yourselves around right now and march your filth out of my house.  I'm sure the neighbours have already called the police, (Petunia gasped at the thought of the scandal.) and they should be on their way as we speak."**

**"Vernon Dursley, are you refusing to come peacefully?" the same wizard asked.  Was Vernon mistaken or did he hear a hint of hope in the intruder's voice.**

**"We're bloody well staying right here!"**

**He knew he didn't imagine the side of the wizard's mouth pulling up into a wicked smile.  He and the others raised their wands and Vernon had barely enough time to register Petunia's fear-filled scream, before there was another flash of light.**

**Then everything fell into darkness.**

***~*~*~*~***

**He awoke to find himself in his current surroundings.  He was lying on a wide cot.  Petunia was next to him shaking his arm and past her he could see Dudley beginning to sit up.  Vernon did the same; dropping is feet over the side of his cot.**

**They were in a large circular enclosure.  There were no bars, but a bluish tint around them indicated that they were definitely closed in.  There was another circle that partially overlapped theirs.  That circle had a red tint to it and the resulting eye-shaped over-lap was purple.  The enclosure did not reach the ceiling and they could see that the room beyond the enclosure was white.  There didn't appear to be any doors or windows anywhere.**

**The Dursley's were not alone.  There were several other people with them in various stages of social dress.  Men, woman and a couple of adolescent boys, were scattered about the large space.  Some sleeping on similar cots, some reading in chairs.  Others were playing chess or cards on heavy looking wooden tables.**

**Near to their three cots, the Dursley's appeared to have their own square wooden table (the top designed like a chess board) with three wooden chairs.  There was a small box on the side, which looked like it might hold game pieces.**

**Some of the other people looked like folks the Dursleys would never associate themselves with.  They were dressed poorly, in tattered clothes and had a crudeness about them.  Others looked to be of good station, dressed nicely… proper and decent.  Some looked as though they had money.  None of them, not even the riffraff, looked like those freaks who had invaded his home.**

**"There we are.  We were all beginning to wonder if you all would wake up at all.  They must have hit you pretty hard."**

**A middle-aged man in a neat sweater-vest and Dockers approached them.  Two other men similarly dressed and a woman approached them.  The first man extended his hand.**

**"Niles Webster."**

**Vernon shook his hand hesitantly.  He introduced his family and Niles introduced his companions.**

**"Don't worry Dursley.  We're none of us ****_those kinds_**** of people.  All muggles here."**

**"Muggles… but—but that's one of their words… Where is this place?  What's going on here?"**

**"Yer in prison, mate," came a loud voice from across the room.  A man dressed in oil stained jeans and a t-shirt approached with accompanied by the man he'd been talking to.  It seemed as though most of the people in the room were looking at them now, interested in the newcomers who had finally regained consciousness.**

**"Prison?  What on earth for?" Petunia asked.**

**"Ya committed a crime against one 'a them.  That's what's for," the man replied.**

**"We've committed no crime!" Vernon insisted.**

**"Don't matter," the man said.  "They think you did.  That's enough for 'em t'drag ya in here.  Kelly's the name by the way."**

**Vernon merely stared at the outstretched hand.  After a moment, Kelly withdrew it.**

**"Now Dursley.  We're all on the same side here.  Us against them, really," one of Niles' companions (Fredrick) said.  "We need to stick together."**

**"So you mean to tell me that we are all in here because they think we've committed a crime against them?  What gives them the right?!"**

**"They take the right, mate."**

**"That's outrageous!  Where's the guard?  I want to make my call!"**

**There was a scattering of mild chuckles.**

**"There's no call, Dursley.  They come and get us when they feel like it."**

**"Well, we have to be arraigned" Petunia said.**

**"No arraignment," Niles continued sitting down in one of the chairs.**

**"No bail.  No bond.  No juvenile court. Consider yerself lucky if ya get a trial," Kelly added.  "They don't have to give one ya know."**

**The Dursleys looked appalled.  Niles, Kelly and the others spent the better part of an hour (interrupted only by the Dursleys frequent need to use the facilities… which turned out to be the purple eye-shaped area, that became solid when occupied) explaining the workings of the wizarding legal system… if it could be called a system.  Nile and his crew had learned most of their information from the people in the red enclosure.  Those were muggles who'd already had their trial and were either waiting for sentencing or to be transported to Ixionar: the prison for muggles who commit crimes against wizards.  Kelly… his knowledge came from previous experience.**

**They learned that they had been brought in over a week earlier.  Their comrades commented that they must have done something serious for the freaks to have stunned them that hard.**

**Despite their outrage at the situation, the Dursleys began to feel an unusual… camaraderie with these people.  Even those whom they would normally consider somewhat beneath them.**

**Four fourteen years, the Dursleys had suffered in silence.  Unable to share their pain and their shame at having any association with that abnormal world.  They'd had no one to complain to, or to fret with.**

**These people understood and recognized those freaks for what they were.**

**They'd heard the tales of how Niles had grown angry at when his sister's husband had shown up at his home, drunk and unannounced, a half hour before important guests were due.  The man refused to leave and so Niles had bodily thrown him out.  If the freak hadn't been so drunk in the first place, he would've been able to prevent his head cracking on the pavement. Apparently, six weeks later, he was still in a coma. There were some things even magic couldn't fix.  Kelly's 'friend' Mathew made no bones about his situation.  His wife of three months had one day up and told him that he was a witch.  So he knocked her out and set her on fire.  ("Suffer not a witch to live.  Says it right there in the bible!" he said.)  The Dursley's briefly explained about Petunia's sister and how they'd been burdened with the whelp ever since.**

**"Wasn't even going to take him in that morning," Vernon explained.  "Was going to drop him off a the orphanage, but our neighbour, the widow Figg, she happened by as we were picking up the bundle.  Pointed out how good and kind and magnanimous we were for taking in the foundling.  Said she was going to tell the whole of the neighbourhood about our generosity.  'Course, we couldn't be rid of 'im then, now could we?"**

**There were nods of agreement and 'tuts' of sympathy for their situation.**

**"If they didn't want us disciplining the boy, they should not've dropped him with us in the first place.  What were we to do?  Let him run wild?  After what he did!  No!  Got what he deserved, I dare say."**

**"Here, here!" Amanda (Niles' friend) agreed "Hope you put it to him good, for all the trouble he's causing you now."**

**"Good and well," Petunia agreed, always happy to be the centre of attention, especially when sympathy was thrown her way. "We're still surprised the boy managed to get out of the house!  ****_They_**** must have helped him, the sneaks."**

**"What's this leech's name by the by? Maybe it's in the papers.  They give us one per week," commented Niles.**

**"Er… Potter," Vernon said.  "Harry Potter."**

**He was more than a little surprised when the majority of the friendly faces suddenly looked shocked and horrid.**

**"Harry… Harry Potter?" Niles asked.  Vernon nodded.  "A scar on his forehead, looks like a lightening bolt?"**

**"Yes," Dudley said, speaking up for the first time.  "It's right here."  The boy indicated on his own forehead.  "Have you seen him?"**

**"You beat Harry Potter?!" exclaimed a woman who had not been in the close circle of the discussion group.  "Are you mad?  Are you ****_trying_**** to get us all killed?"**

**"What are you talking about?" Petunia demanded.  She didn't like this woman's tone, nor the sudden change of atmosphere in the cell.**

**"Is he alive?  Did you kill him?  Was he breathing when you last saw him?"**

**"Madame, I do believe that is none of your business."**

**"It bloody well is my business!  It's all our business when you go and do something that could very well send us to our graves!"**

**"Dursley," Niles cut in. "I dislike wizards as much as the next man, but Harry Potter…?  Surely you must have known better?"**

**"What in blazes are you all on about?" Mathew piped before Vernon had a chance to.**

**Many that had been sitting in the close group around the Dursleys, began to move off towards their own sections.**

**"What's so special about Harry?" Dudley asked.  He was met with wide-eyed stares.**

**"You… you don't know about Potter?  About Voldemort?"**

**"Voldemort?  I… think I've heard the word, but I can't place it just now," Vernon told him.**

**"You don't know about your own nephew?"**

**"I wanted to know as little about that boy as possible.  Why would I ask him anything?"**

**"To defeat your enemy you must first know your enemy," Kelly said.  "Let me enlighten you."**

**The rough man explained the story of Voldemort and of Harry's defeat of the evil wizard.  Harry was the saviour of the wizarding world and to that day, he was still revered.  The woman who had accosted the Dursleys explained the reason for her anger.  She had heard rumours, through her brother, a wizard, and his company, that Voldemort had returned.  She explained that the reason for the sudden change in attitude was that, Voldemort hated all muggles.  If he were to come to power, all muggles would be tortured, made into slaves or killed.  They all hated wizards as much as the Dursleys, but if Voldemort had truly returned, then the only thing standing between him and them was Harry Potter.**

**"You'd better prey, that boy lives," she added.  "If he's dead, they're liable to send you to Azkaban."**

**"Don't be stupid Amy.  Muggles are never sent to Azkaban.  We'd be dead inside an hour."**

**"With how they feel about Potter," she told Kelly, "they wouldn't care.  Me, I don't care what happens to the lot of you, either way.  Just don't put our necks on the block with you."  With that, the angry woman returned to her own cot.**

***~*~*~*~***

**And that's how it was.  The other prisoners gave the Dursley a wide berth.  They didn't want to associate themselves with them, lest they bring the anger of the wizarding world down on their own heads.  They were worried that being friendly towards the family would bring harsher verdicts in their own trial.  Even Niles, while still polite, kept his general distance.  The only one who didn't bother one way or the other was Mr. Kelly, who didn't much give a damn what the wizarding freaks thought about him.**

***~*~*~*~***

**Later that first day, an invisible bell rang out six chimes.  All those seated at tables rose and stood by their cots.  The Dursleys wisely thought to follow suit.  As the sixth echo died away, the tables disappeared and a long table appeared in the centre of the room.  The prisoners took their seats, leaving the three looping the end for the Dursley family.  It went without saying that the only place Dudley could fit would be at the head of the table.  There was a place setting in front of each of them: a single plate, fork knife and to the Dursleys' disgust, a goblet rather than a proper glass.  Dudley's eyes roved hungrily over the still table, then around at the walls of their container.**

**"When do they bring the food?" Dudley implored his father.**

**"Soon, son, soon," Vernon replied.  He then leaned towards Kelly, who was at his right. "I take it the food is safe?"**

**"That it is.  Though you're not gonna like the way it gets here."**

**"What do you…"**

**Vernon looked up.  Three wizards had suddenly appeared on the outside of the barrier.  Vernon turned around and saw that two wizards and a witch had appeared on in the same position beyond the barrier at his back.  None of the other prisoners seemed to be feathered by this and continued to talk amongst themselves.**

**There was a loud crack, which caused Dudley to jump and almost loose his balance (sitting on a chair he so overflowed).  A moment later the sparse plates and goblets were filled with food and drink… all except three.  The Dursleys' plates remained bare. (Although water appeared in their cups.)**

**Dudley's mouth dropped open, his eyes pitifully wide.**

**"What… What's going on here?" Vernon demanded.**

**"Oh!  Sorry Dursley," said one of the wizards from the barrier in front of him.  "I suppose the elves didn't know you were awake yet…"**

**"Elves?" Petunia squawked.**

**"Better luck tomorrow." The wizard finished.  The six then disappeared.**

**"Tomorrow?!" Dudley cried.  "Dad!  Make them come back!"**

**Vernon screeched his chair back and began to stand.  Kelly's hand on his arm stopped him.**

**"Wouldn't do that if I were you, mate.  Less you want yer family t'go hungry tomorrow too."**

**Vernon sat back down.  "But they just can't—"**

**"Get it through yer head, Dursley.  They can do whatever they want.  ****_They_**** are in charge here."  He went back to his own plate and began to move his food around with his fork.  "For now," he muttered under his breath.**

**"What was that?"**

**"Later, Dursley.  Later.  Drink yer water slow."**

**Petunia, meanwhile, was looking longingly at a roll on Franklin Dover's plate.  Inch by inch she leaned closer towards it.  Finally, Dover grew tired of the horse-faced woman breathing on him and with a roll of his eyes handed the bread over.  No sooner had his fingers left the roll than the food on Dover's plate disappeared.  The man gasped and grabbed the bread back from Petunia.  Food re-appeared on Dover's plate, though in a smaller portion than before.  He scowled at the woman then concentrated on what was left of his meal.**

**The Dursleys tried to enjoy their water.**

*~*~*~*~*

"Dursley!" Kelly called from across the cell.  He motioned with a nod of his head for the portly man to join him at his table.  He was sitting next to a man who had been brought in the previous evening and had gone straight to sleep on the cot formerly occupied by Niles.  Niles had been taken away two days earlier.  No one knew for certain what had happened to the prestigious man.  But seeing as he hadn't been placed in the 'red' cell, most guessed that he had bought his way out.  The wizarding world, Vernon learned, was not entirely above such things.  The fact that Niles' brother-in-law was not completely above the board in the wizarding community, either, would have made it easier for him to grease the wheels.

Vernon approached the table.

"This here's David Lirthe," he said.  Vernon extended his hand which the man curtly shook.  Lirthe was dressed all in black.  Expensive black.  His black hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail.  His wore black wire-rimmed glasses… and the one word that ran though Dursley's head as he observed this tall, slight man was 'Dangerous'.

"So," Lirthe began, indicating the empty seat for Vernon.  "You're the one who was saddled with the hero of the wizarding world?"

Vernon harrumphed.  "Hero.  Still can't believe that little good for nothing pain in the arse is so important to these freaks.  Then again, _only_ people like them would depend on an _insect_ like that to save them."

"So how do you feel about the wizarding world in general?"

"Wouldn't mist an eye if they were all wiped off the face of the Earth," Dursley stated with conviction.

The side of Lirthe's mouth slowly curled into an acid chilling half-smile.

"Tell me, Dursley," he drolled, folding his hands on the small table.  "Have you ever heard of an organization called P.A.W.S.?"

*~*~*~*~*

Harry was putting the finishing touches on his Potions essay that was due in twenty minutes.  He was curled up in the crook under the stairs that led up to the boy's dormitory.  He found it ironic that _this_ was his chosen place of seclusion and comfort while in the Gryffindor common room.  Those times when he needed to be alone to think, when he didn't feel like sneaking around the school in his cloak, Ron or Hermione could almost always find him there.  After all the years he'd wished to get out from under the stairs, he found the most comfort there.

It was their free period after lunch and Hermione had wanted to do some research in the library.  Ron, as was his usual as of late, tagged along.  Harry opted to remain behind, saying that he'd see them in Potions later on.

Potions.  Snape.  Training.

It wasn't the horrifying experience he'd expected it to be.

*~*~*~*~*

**Two nights after their first meeting, Harry returned to the Potions classroom.  He was concealed in his invisibility cloak but opened the front to reveal his face.  He raised his fist to the door but before he could knock, it flew open and a very stern looking Snape stood there staring down at the disembodied face.**

**"Follow me," he commanded.  He stepped out into the hallway, charmed the door and stocked off without looking back to see if Harry was following him.  (Not that he could see him, as Harry had replaced the invisibility cloak.)  The young Gryffindor was led deeper into the dungeons than he had ever gone before.  They twisted and tuned until they came to a simple looking black door.  A charm was lifted and the two went inside.**

**It was an old classroom.  Fewer desks than usual.  Perhaps it had been used centuries ago when the Hogwarts population was significantly less.  But Harry could still tell this had once been a Potions classroom.  Shelves lined the walls missing their jars of Kelpie Hair and Beetle Eyes.  There were circular marks on the desks where hot cauldrons had been rested.  The ghost smell of heavy ingredients clipped the air.**

**"This is where you will come for our sessions," Snape said, locking and warding the door.  Harry removed his cloak fully, folded it and placed it on a desk near a corner.  Professor Snape meanwhile had taken to reclining against the teacher's desk, his arms folded expectantly.**

**"Well, Mr. Potter?"**

**"Sir?"**

**"Have you an answer to your question?  Why else do I continue to use a wand?"**

**Harry sat down at one of the desks in the second row. "Er… well, the book said something about… wandless magic draining a wizard's 'core energy'?  And if a wizard looses too much core energy, they can die."**

**A slight incline of the head was all Harry got to indicate that his answer was correct.**

**"And core energy?  What is that?"**

**"The energy force residing within any and every current or former living being, whether magical or muggle, that is the initiating and maintaining force of existence."**

**"Word for word from the text, Mr. Potter.  Do you know what it means?"**

**"Not a clue."**

**"At least you're being honest.  For once."**

**Harry bit down on his tongue.**

**"Everything that lives or used to live, Mr. Potter, has it's own form of energy.  Ours flows from a magical centre within us.  That energy is what allows us to breath, to grow, to think.  When that energy is too low to sustain us, we die.**

**"We tap into that pool when we perform magic.  When we use our wands, they behave as a sort of… artificial source of core energy.  Most everyday spells only use a small portion of our own core, usually no more than is required to breathe. The majority of the power comes from our wands.  Are you with me so far, Mr. Potter?"**

**Harry nodded.  "I think so… Sort of like… using a wand is like… taking power from a battery, but using power from ourselves is like using from the outlet?"**

**"A somewhat crude analogy, but yes.  Wands could be considered similar to muggle batteries, in that sense.  Only, their magical cores, in your case, the phoenix feather, never run out.   The wood of a wand controls _how_ that energy flows.**

**"Wands do have their limits, however, but the limits are proportional to the wizard behind it.  The more powerful the spell, the more of our own core energy is siphoned.  Also, when you are not accustomed to using a spell, more is used.  We replenish this energy through rest and nourishment."**

**Harry knitted his brow. "Is that the reason why…" he began, "why we always have Charms and Transfiguration either right before, or right after a meal?"**

**"It appears that you do have a brain somewhere in that Gryffindor head of yours.  You may make a passable tool after all."**

**"Excuse me?"**

**"A tool, Mr. Potter.  You are the wizarding world's ultimate tool.  A weapon.  They use you when they need you and will discard you when you've outlived your usefulness.  Do not delude yourself into thinking you are anything but."**

**Harry looked steadily up at his teacher before staring down at his hands.**

**Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys… even Sirius and Professor Lupin; they all coddled Harry, treating him like a normal little boy.  Harry knew was anything but, though he appreciated the effort for the most part.  The Tri-Wizard Tournament had changed everything.  He knew he had to give up the pre-tense of being just like everyone else, no matter how much he might wish it.**

**Voldemort was _his_ responsibility.  It was _his_ job to destroy this monster.  He knew it and despite what his friends might say, they _must_ have known it as well.  And when it was over…**

**Well, he'd already had examples enough of how fickle the wizarding world could be.  He'd found himself ostracised two out of the previous four years he'd attended Hogwarts.**

**And when he wasn't needed anymore…**

**Harry groaned inwardly.  He should have known that Snape would be the only one to confront him with the truth.  The others were too afraid of hurting Harry's feelings or frightening him.  They didn't want to imagine what might happen when Harry faced the Slytherin heir.**

**But the last thing he felt he needed was placating.  And grudgingly, a small part of Harry was grateful that _someone_ had been able to confirm his suspicions… even if it _was_ Snape. **

**"Thanks."**

**Snape blinked.  "What?"  He obviously hadn't been expecting _that_ as a response.**

**"I never _deluded_ myself.  I know what everyone expects of me… You're… just the first person with the brass to say it to my face.  Should'a known it'd be you," he added in a mumble.**

**"Indeed," Snape doled.  "And since you seem to have an understanding of where we now stand, we should begin… unless of course you have any further questions…" He raised an eyebrow.**

**Harry looked slightly uncomfortable.  Snape sighed.**

**"Mr. Potter, if this training is to work, you and I, as much as we may loath it, are going to have to attain some**** level of trust and honestly.  I can tell you have at least on question rattling around in your head… let me guess…**

**"It's obvious from his frequent little displays that Dumbledore is a purveyor of wandless magic.  You wish to know why he is not training you instead of a 'greasy bastard'."**

**It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow.**

**"I assure you I am quite aware of most of the colourful monikers that have been bestowed on me."**

**"Erm…" Harry thought it best to ignore Snape's last comment.  Instead he just nodded contritely to the former question.**

**"Dumbledore can perform wandless magic most expertly," Snape continued.  "But, as powerful a wizard as he is, the headmaster is still human.  A very, very old human.  And while he engages in the odd jaunt, it's best he conserve his energies for a time when they become necessary. Given the conversation we've have just had, I shouldn't need to explain anymore on that subject."**

**Harry shook his head.**

**"Anything else?"**

**This time Harry tried not to hesitate.**

**"Just one more," he said.  Snape merely nodded that he should continue and Harry was surprised at the level of patience his professor was showing.  Usually, if you asked too many question, the Potions master would explode.  He guessed that either Professor Dumbledore had spoken to him or he found this training too important to me meddled with.  Probably both.**

**"My, um…" He refused to let himself blush or show any type of embarrassment at this.  "Hermione found… well, she was looking up… malice… in the library.  It talked about core energy and it almost being a curse and all that, but… well… what we couldn't figure out was… erm..."**

**"How a muggle such as your uncle was able to inflict malice?"**

**"I never said—"**

**"Oh, give us a little**** credit, Mr. Potter.  No one ever believes that 'I fell' or 'I walked into a door' rubbish."**

**Harry shook his head dismissively.  "Anyway****… I thought muggles couldn't do any magic."**

**"Under most circumstances, no, Muggles cannot do magic.  But in fact, there are two forms of magic that are so powerful that they transcends the narrow definitions of muggle or magic, human or beast, wand or wandless.  You should be quite familiar with the first of these as from what I have heard, it was what originally saved you from Voldemort."**

**"Love."**

**"When muggles croon that love is magic, they don't know how close to the truth they really are.  It surpasses all boundaries.  Had your mother been muggle, her sacrifice still would have protected you."**

**Harry's eyes looked distant for a moment.**

**"Hate's the other one, isn't it?" he asked quietly.  "It has to be."**

**"It is."**

**Harry looked at Snape directly.  "Which is stronger?"**

**"It depends on the conviction of the caster," Snape told him.  "Ultimately, no one knows."**

**"So… Vernon…"**

**Snape cleared his throat mildly.  "Apparently, my assumption that you were being worshiped at home as in our world, was somewhat mistaken."**

**"Slightly."**

*~*~*~*~*

Harry didn't have any further questions, at leas none that couldn't wait for another time.  While Hermione was fascinated by analytical study, Harry preferred a more hands on approach to learning.  He wanted to get started.

They spent the rest of the next two hours with Snape instructing him on how to feel his own core energy running through his body.  Awareness of self was the first step.

*~*~*~*~*

**Snape widened the isle in the centre of the room by pushing the desks together with a flick of his wand.  He stood in front of Harry in the new space.**

**"Have you ever stood outside, Mr. Potter, on an extremely warm day, with your eyes closed and a strong sun beating down on you."**

**Harry nodded.  Snape told him to close his eyes.  Harry sighed. To do so would be breaking one of the three prime rules of Gryffindor house.  When with Snape: i) Never eat or drink anything he gives you.  ii) Never turn your back.  iii) Never close your eyes.  Deviation from any of these rules would surely lead to pain, suffering and death.  But, it was for a good cause so Harry went ahead and closed his eyes.**

**"Recall the way the sun made you feel.  Your blood, alive with the heat."**

**Harry tried to recall the feeling.  It was cold in the dungeons, so imagining a hot summer's day was not exactly easy.  After a few tried moments, it came to him.  He remembered how the heat had moved from his chest, to his shoulders, then down his legs and arms and out to his fingertips and toes.  It was a rushing sensation, he could hear it in his ears and feel it behind his eyes.  It was almost like floating.**

**"Now take that memory and bring it to the present." He heard Snape say, from what sounded like a distance.**

**Harry concentrated.  He began to feel the coldness of the dungeon again on his hands and face.  But he was still very aware of the blood in his veins.  It was a though he'd been running for a long time, but he was not out of breath.  He concentrated harder.  He could feel the warmth again beneath his cool skin.  The rushing came back and Harry began to feel light headed.  He held onto it for as long as he could, but dizziness came upon him and everything began to spin.  Harry collapsed onto his hands and knees.**

**Panting, Harry opened his eyes again and looked around.  Snape was standing on the other side of the room, a guarded expression on his face.  Harry reached up to use the desk to help pull himself up.  He yelped and quickly withdrew his hand.  The desk felt as though it were on fire.  Indeed there was a now a low red glow to the normally black surface.  He looked around the room.  The walls and other desks also, seemed to have the same heated red hue.  Snape appeared to be the only thing unaffected.**

**"What… What happened?" he asked, finally getting to his feet.**

**Snape remained silent for a moment.  He made no move to approach Harry.**

**"Yes…" he murmured.  "A fine weapon."**

*~*~*~*~*

Snape insisted on meeting with Harry every night since then.  Apparently it was important that Harry learn to control his flow of magic right way.  Waiting a day or two could prove disastrous.

He learned that it was his own core energy that had heated the room.  Snape had wisely placed wards on the room beforehand so that nothing outside was damage.  The Professor used his own wandless magic to protect himself.  The sensation did not leave after Harry after the session.  He felt charged and awake.

Snape must have known that would happen because he shoved a vile of Morphiasella Potion – a sleeping draught, not as powerful as Draught of Living Death, into his hand before sending him back to Gryffindor.  After an hour of lying in bed, Harry was resigned to taking the potion.  A second rule, broken.

However, he was awake, rested (and alive) for class the next morning. Surprisingly the electric feeling had returned.

By noon that day, it had given Harry an extremely bad headache.  He found it difficult to concentrate on his afternoon classes.

That evening, Snape chastised Harry for not going to the school nurse with his headache.  ("Stubborn Gryffindor pride.")  He'd anticipated the headache and had dropped of an appropriate antidote, telling the mediwitch to expect the boy.  He gave it to Harry then and the pain in his head was gone in seconds.

Snape forced Harry to repeat the 'rushing' exercise again.  This time, however, it was for a shorter duration and the Professor told Harry to visualize the power coming back into himself.  Shrinking away to a small ball in his chest.  He repeated the exercise for the rest of the session and when he went to bed that night, he was able to sleep from weariness, rather than magical potion.

Harry was learning quickly and only needed to repeat the previous night's exercise twice, before Snape was apparently satisfied, and moved on to the next step: focus.

The magic, instead of pulling it into a little ball in his chest, was to be directed solely down his arms and out to his hands.

The mind was a powerful weapon, but too many things happened in there.  It was better to focus the magic to a specific area of the body rather than let it run wild from the labyrinth of the mind.  This was more difficult than Harry thought it would be and it wasn't until near the end of the session that he was able to first do it.

Surprisingly, Harry was finding Snape to be a… competent teacher.  Well… alright, he was good.  Harry, for the first time in five years, found himself actually learning from the man.  Snape was even… tolerable during the sessions.  He never actually praised Harry for doing anything right, but his snipes and sarcastic remarks had dwindled to a minimum, usually reserved for the times when Harry himself knew he had messed up.

Potions class was as miserable as ever and Harry found himself wondering if the slight difference in attitude was due to Snape preferring to teach one on one, or due to the lack of Slytherins.  Perhaps both?  Snape was definitely turning out to be a more complex man than the one who had maliciously punished Harry at every turn during his first year.

Harry looked at his watch.

Snape was also a man that would be that would be spitting fire if Harry were late for class.  He gathered up his things and made a mad dash for the portrait.

*~*~*~*~*

It was Friday.  1:58pm – sharp.  Potions began on Friday at 2:00pm – sharp.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil tore their way down into the bowls of the castle, their shoes clacking against the hard stones of the dungeons.  Neither girl wanted to think about what their Potions master might do if they were late again.

"We're dead.  We are _so dead."_

"Not yet," Parvati challenged her friend.  "We can still make it."

"Doesn't matter," Lavender huffed.  "He'll probably take 50 points each for breathing too hard in his class."

"If we're lucky.  He'll probably--oof!"

Parvati lay sprawled out on the dungeon floor.  She heard Lavender gasp.  She pulled herself to her knees.

I'm alright," she said, pulling herself to her knees and turning to see what it was she had tripped over.  Lavender herself was less concerned with her best friend and more focussed on the young body that was convulsing on the floor.

"Harry!"

"Oh, Merlin, what's wrong with him?"

Harry's arms were wrapped tightly around his torso.  His teeth were gritted and his eyes were clenched shut.  He was curled in a partial fetal position, but his body continued to spasm in pain.  The young Gryffindor looked to be trying to fight off agony.

When Lavender shook him, Harry gave no response.  He didn't seem to realize they were there.

"Go get help!" Parvati yelled.  "Snape's closest!"

Lavender nodded without question and ran off down the hallway.

Parvati, at a loss to what else to do, rested her hand on Harry's head in as comforting a manor as she could manage.

"Help's coming, Harry.  Hang on."

*~*~*~*~*

Severus Snape was busy mentally calculating the number of points he would be deducting from the three tardy Gryffindors.

It was 2pm sharp.

He closed the door and moved gracefully to the front of the classroom.  He glanced down at Weasley and Granger then towards the empty seat normally occupied by Harry Potter.  Harry would be cleaning cauldrons till morning.

He straightened to his full height.  He opened his mouth and was about to hit the Gryffindors with one of his trademark stinging witticisms, when the door to the potions classroom flew open with such force that it cracked loudly against the wall behind it.

"MISS BROWN!  What--"

"Harry!--You--He--He--"

"Miss Brown, do try to take some manner of control of yourself!  Now what about Mr. Potter?"

Lavender took a deep breath.

"Harry's hurt.  Just up the hall.  We… we don't know what happened.  We found him on the floor--"

Snape didn't bother listening to the rest of her breathless rant.  He stormed past her and back the way she'd come.  Seconds later, he heard Parvati yelling.

"Harry!  Harry, please! ENVARATE!"

Snape turned the corner and came upon the frantic girl leaning over Harry with her wand out.  She looked up when her teacher approached.

"Professor!  He stopped breathing!  I can't wake him up!"

Snape knelt down on one knee.  After finding no pulse he waved his wand over Harry casting a strong recovery spell.  Harry remained still.

"Respiro!"

Nothing.  Harry was beginning to turn blue.

"We need to get him to the hospital wing," Snape muttered, standing.

"We need to get him breathing first!"

Snape turned.  Miss Granger and the rest of the fifth year Potions students had crowded into the dim hallway behind him.  He would have to deal with their impudence later.

"Simple magic isn't working, Miss Granger," he sneered.

"Then do it the muggle way.  Ever heard of CPR?"  She shoved past him without waiting for his answer or answering Ron's: "What?  See--Pee--What?".  
  


Hermione knelt down beside Harry's head.

"S'cuse me.  S'cuse me."  Seamus made his way through the crowd and knelt down opposite Hermione at Harry's chest.

"I'll do the compressions," he commented as he folded his hands over Harry's heart. Hermione closed Harry's nose and sealed his mouth with her own.  She breathed into him, his chest rising slightly.  As she withdrew, Seamus began pushing forcefully on Harry's rib cage.

"One, two, three, four, breath!"

Hermione pushed another puff of air into Harry's lungs.  They repeated those actions again and then twice more under the silent watchful eyes of their classmates and Professor Snape.

Hermione pushed another breath into Harry, but this time was met with resistance.

Harry made an 'urk' sound and began coughing animatedly.  He stopped after a few moments, breathing deep gasping breaths.  He wasn't the only one to gasp.  Several of the young witches and wizards who had the honour of calling themselves 'pure-bloods', were shocked beyond belief.  Seamus and Hermione had gotten Harry to breathe again… without magic.

The two Gryffindor's had little time to enjoy their laurels as their patient was now making painful sounding groans.  His eyes were flickering sporadically as though he were trying to pull himself out of a bad dream.  

Snape had already conjured a stretcher and now levitated Harry onto it.  "Mr. Weasley, fetch Professor Dumbledore and the Head of your house.  Mr. Finnigan, Miss Granger, you're with me.  You'll need to explain what you did to Potter.  The rest of you," he glared at the class, "return to the classroom and begin preparing the ingredients for the Falconus Potion on page 35 of your text.  If I find there has been _any disruption of __any kind, the entire class—__both houses, will have detention for the next month!  Miss Brown, Miss Patel, You'd best come along too._

"Now move!"

The entire Potions class jumped.  Those who hadn't been named quickly filed back towards the Potions classroom.  Ron took off in search of the school heads as the remaining four able-bodied Gryffindors began to follow Snape and the prone Harry up to the hospital wing.

"Pro—Professor---?" came a weak voice.

"Don't talk Potter."

Harry wearily shook his head and reached out, lightly grabbing the sleeve of his robes.

"N—No… Kar—Karkaroff…"

Snape (and the others) stopped their procession.  "What?" he asked, looking down at the boy.

Harry looked up at his teacher with blurry (Hermione had his glasses), and tired eyes.  Snape could see the boy was about to slip back into unconsciousness.

"Karkaroff…" Harry breathed, "V-Voldemort… has… Karkaroff…"

To be continued…

*~*~*~*~*

A/N:

The first two paragraphs and the first sentence of the third paragraph of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (minus one word), were included in this chapter and belong to J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing; not me.

This story is definitely a WORK IN PROCESS.  It's reeeeaally developing itself and becoming very rich in my head, if I may say so.  I am constantly thinking of things that I wish to add or explanations for other things.  As such it takes time to decide what to leave in and what to leave out and where to put it all.  I really think (hope) you'll be pleased with the results so hang in there.  The training scenes with Harry were the main reason for this long delay.  It's still kinda choppier than I would like, but for now it'll have to do.  This was more of an info chapter.  Interesting things coming up.

A couple of people have asked if the relationship between Harry and Severus is going to become slash.  Well….

Sorry.  Not in this fic.

Buuuuut, I do have another fic, as yet untitled, which is HP/SS NC-17, super slash, mega smut, pillow fluffed, with a little darkness and BDSM thrown in, that I will be posting in a while.  It's kinda long and I'm trying to do it as a one shot.  I've been writing fan fiction since 1998 and it's my first slash piece ever, so bear with me. :)

I've also just started another Harry/Snape slash that is _actually a story and not simply smut, so that one will take a little longer to come out._

As for what happened on that mysterious August 31st?  No, Harry was _not sexually abused.  You __will find out what happened (cause I've already written it) but I haven't decided which chapter to put it into yet (but it may be the 4th).  It has to flow right and be the right time._

Draco… I'm still sorting him out a bit.  He _will make his presence known as always, though._

Lirthe (pronounced: LER – like _her_ and TH – like _thou_)… unscramble his name for a clue as to what he and P.A.W.S. are all about. (Ain't I wicked?)

P.A.W.S. – the idea of this came to me while watching "Married With Children" (which has the *NO MA'AM* organization: Men Against Amazonian Masterhood), and the X-Men comic books (back when it was good).  It's going to be a major plot point (if this works out)… later on… Can anyone guess what the letters stand for?! :)

How did Sebastian get into the Hospital Wing?  Snakes can climb walls (I've seen it) and stairs and pipes as we saw in CoS.

Why the students chosen for the OoP were all Gryffindors…  This time around they were yes, but this has not been an exclusive thing.  (My) Arabella Figg was a Ravenclaw.  But this year the seven Gryffindors are in the spotlight.  Mostly this is because I think I know them better than other students but also… all in the Order may not be what it seems… That's all I'm going to say about _that for now.  Stay tuned._

Now click that little "Review" button down on the left.

;P


	4. To Question

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

Warning: This chapter contains descriptions of violence. (Yes, it's what you think it is…(finally!) Plus some other implied nastiness.).

**Harry Potter and the Spirits Within**

**by Gates (aka Maven Cree)**

**Chapter Four: To Question.  **

It was a rare occasion that the call of heroism in Gryffindor house was not levelled in Harry's direction.  But Harry was by no means jealous of the attention bestowed upon Seamus and Hermione.  In fact, he found it something of a relief.  A break for the celebrity status he'd been forced to endure since he first came to Hogwarts.

Harry had only had to spend one night in the hospital wing.  He had gone into extreme shock.  A vision of Karkaroff being captured by Voldemort and the suffering the man was enduring had hit Harry like a freight train.  It had happened so quickly, and with such force, coupled with the fact that he had previously never had a vision while fully awake, was too much for his system to handle.  The shock had effectively shut him down.

The timing could not have been worse.

As Harry was still in the beginning stages of his training, his magical levels were off balance.  It would have taken a high level of medical magic, not to mention time, to cut through the interference.  By the time Madame Pomfrey would have gotten to him, it may have been too late.

Harry and Hermione were more than a little surprised to find out that the wizarding world knew nothing of the muggle life saving method.  Hermione's parents, as they were both dentists, had taught it to their daughter at an early age.  Seamus's muggle father was a fireman, so he knew how to do it as well.  They were awarded twenty points each by Professor McGonagall.  Madame Pomfrey, being the medical matron was the one of a very few on the staff who were acquainted with the procedure.

As such, the Gryffindor common room was transformed into a classroom of sorts.  McGonagall had asked Hermione and Seamus to teach CPR to any of the house who wished to learn it.  Dana Blackstone and John McCray, two seventh years, also knew how to perform it and helped with the instruction.  Madame Pomfrey gave them what literature she had on the topic so that it could be done without danger.  Gryffindors of all backgrounds wanted to learn, even other muggle-borns, as, even though they knew about it, not every muggle was aware of the proper method.

Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation became something of a fad at Hogwarts.  The other houses (Slytherin excluded) all began their own little CPR classes.  Officially, Slytherins, through pride alone, refused to learn a muggle form of aid.  Even so, a few discretely approached Madame Pomfrey in private.

Harry was grateful for the distraction that this trend caused.  It drew attention away from his own personal torments.

It was a month before Karkaroff's body was found… what was left of it.  The skinless, supposed corpse had been magically suspended upside down in the street in front of the Ministry of Magic. His limbs had been severed rather crudely at their bases and were planted in the ground below him standing up.  His eyes had been dug out of his head, as had been his tongue.  His genitals had been shredded like parchment and his ears had been removed.  These horrors were added to when 'Karkaroff' had been brought down.  It was discovered that the spell keeping him afloat…

…had also been keeping him alive

…and conscious.

No sooner had the body touched the Earth than an anguish filled cry escaped it.  The body began to spasm violently before finally releasing its long last breath.

All this had been in front of a multitude of wizarding (and some non-wizarding) people, including several reporters from various wizarding news agencies, ministry officials, and the Minister of Magic himself, one Cornelius L. Fudge.

It was a month of hell for Harry Potter.  Snape had been called away the night Karkaroff was captured.  No one but Dumbledore was supposed to have known this, but as always, Harry saw.  The dark professor showed up in the hospital wing just before lunch the next day as Harry was preparing to leave.  He gave Harry a potion to drink that would dampen violent attacks of pain through his scar while he was conscious, but would not work while he was asleep.  It could not remove the pain completely.  Harry had downed the potion and the older wizard turned to leave.

"Professor…"

He turned around to face Harry again.  Harry wished he had kept his mouth shut, but he could not ignore the need to say… something.

"I--I'm… sorry."

Snape raised an eyebrow.

Harry had blushed furiously.  "I--I saw.  The meeting… I… saw."

Snape had narrowed his eyes dangerously, but said nothing.  Instead he turned on his heal and stormed out without making a sound.

*~*~*~*~*

The second week of October saw the coming of the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year.  Teachers were hard pressed to keep the attention of the excited students as the week wore on.  By Friday, they had all but given up.  Only the lightest of their perspective subjects were taught on that day.  In charms, the third years were taught Cheering Charms.  Fourth year transfiguration class busied themselves transfiguring cacti into plush toys.  Fifth year potions… well, no on had really expected that to be any different, and Snape did not disappoint them.  The Gryffindors and Slytherins spent their last class of the week stressing over a vomit-repressing potion.  Somewhat thoughtful, some of the students realized, as they would more than likely be stuffing themselves sick the following day, with Honeydukes goodies and Butterbeer dreams.

Harry and his fellow Order students awoke early Saturday morning.  They would only have one day to visit Hogsmeade that weekend.  Sunday would be spent with their various mentors, training for their part in the war.  Harry had even less time as he was required to meet with Snape that very night.

The morning was spent devouring Honeydukes' stores, and Ron and Harry were eternally grateful that Hermione did indeed bring a vial of her vomit-repressor, perfectly brewed as always, which allowed them to continue in their crapulence.

They opted to have their lunch at a small restaurant near Gladrags, as The Three Broomsticks pub would no doubt be filled to the gills.  In fact it was anther trip to the Quidditch shop, and a pass through Zonko's Joke shop before they finally found their way to the pub for their traditional Butterbeer.  Proper timing too, as the sky that had been threatening all day had finally decided to break.

Most of the students had made their way back to Hogwarts, but those who remained stuffed themselves into various stores in an attempt to squeeze out every last drop of the weekend that they could.  Three Broomsticks was crowded, but not overly so.

The trio, joined at the Quidditch shop by Ginny, found a booth in the back and enjoyed themselves speaking of everything they could think of that would take their minds away from the training sessions of the following day.  None found their training too daunting, (the others were astounded that Harry was actually finding positives in his sessions with the Potions master), but it still took a great toll on all of them.  Nothing had ever been taken as seriously by the four.

They had been there for nearly a half hour when the twins of mischief themselves came in looking unusually despondent.

"What's wrong, you two?" Ginny asked.  She hadn't seen her brothers looking so down since the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament.

The two sat down resting their heads on their fists in a mirror image of each other.

"We were seeing the realtor about buying the shop down the street," Fred began glumly.

"Buying a shop?"  Ron said incredulously.  "You two can't afford a shop!"

"We have an investor."

"Who?"

"None of your business!  Drink your Butterbeer."

"Anyway," George continued, "We were in negotiation when Zonko himself decided to stroll by."

"The old badger."

"He'd heard about our Weasley Wizard Wheezes."

"The bugger was laughing at us!"

"Said we don't stand a chance.  Said he's going to run us into the ground."

"Said we should save our money or open in Diagon Alley or something."

"He _knows_ this is the best location for joke sales."

"Reminded us that he's been here for almost a hundred years."

"And stomped out everyone else who's come along."

"And they were all better jokesters than us."

"They created the classics!"

"And they never stood a chance."

"And neither will we."

"And the trouble is…"

"He's right," they finished in stereo unison, slumping even further onto the table.

"Codswollow!"

The group looked up.  Madame Rosmerta threw her dishtowel down on the table.  She pulled a spare chair from an adjoining table.  She sat down with intent.

"Now I've seen your jokes.  Students in here are all the time talking about them!  And I've seen Zonko's.  And you've definitely got what it takes to challenge him.  Yes, Zonko's is tried and true, but he's just that.  He doesn't change.  One or two new pranks a year?  From what I hear, and I hear plenty, you two have more jokes than you know what to do with!"

The twins blushed and a trace of their usually mischievous smiles crept back onto their faces.

"Still," George said.  "We haven't got his business experience or his savvy or… what… what are you doing Hermione?"

Hermione had rested her hand on George's forehead.

"Checking for fever.  I've never heard you two speak with so little confidence."

"In the school, we've got free reign," Fred said.  "We're heading out into the real world now."

"Finite Incantarum," Ron cast, pointing his wand at his brothers.  Fred gave him a wry look.

"We're not under a spell Ron.  Can't we be serious without everyone thinking something's wrong with us?"

"No," four voices barked.

Rosmerta sat back into her chair.

"Do you all know the history of this shop?" she asked, casually waving her hand around.

Five heads turned in Hermione's direction.

Rosmerta continued.  "When I moved in here, oh… many years ago, I was up against heavy competition.  There were four other bars, all well established and well loved.  I was young, I was scared, but I was determined.  When I first opened these doors, the sign outside read: 'The Broomstick.'   Three years later, it was 'Two Broomsticks', and Angus Pile and his 'Well Bottom' were gone.  'The Pickle' took a little longer, twenty years, but you don't see Joseph Jennings around here anymore, do you?"

"What about the Hog's Head.  They're still around," Ron pointed out.

Rosmerta waved her hand dismissively.  "Different sort of crowd completely.  There's no competition between us."

"So… how did you… get rid of the others?" George asked.

"Nothing underhanded, if that's what you're thinking," she responded.  "I was simply better.  I gave the people what they wanted.  I listened to what they needed.  I remained loose and changed with the times.  And when you don't focus on profits so much, you'd be surprised at how quickly they roll in.  And keep in mind…"  she said leaning in suspiciously.  She lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper.  "It isn't Zonko who attends our little get-togethers.  Our _friend_ picks the best of the bunch and he chose the two of you."

"She's got a point," Harry said.

"Of course I do!" She said, straightening up, with a smile.  "Just remained focussed and you'll do fine.  Be a little Slytherin about it!"

"Slytherin?" Ron balked.  "How does being slimy and underhanded, help them? Aside from the obvious, I mean."

"I beg your pardon," Rosmerta said, looking indignant.  "_I_ was in Slytherin during my time at Hogwarts."

"What?!"

"You were?!"

"But you're so nice!"

"And you're in our… _group_…"

"Hmph.  Slytherin is not a synonym for _bad_," she said.  "Just like Gryffindor doesn't mean _good_.  Need I remind you all of a former Gryffindor named Peter…?"

"Point taken," Harry said.

"But they're all so… so…" Ron protested.

"The pressure in that house is immense," she said.  "Even in my day.  Of course, Grindelwald was the problem back then.  So many parents were gone to the wrong side and any little thing that was said, went right back to them.  I was one of the lucky ones.  My family stayed on the side of light.  It could get rather lonely at times though.  Because I wasn't one of _them_, I could never really be friends with too many in my house.  They couldn't risk it getting back to their parents that they were friends with a _disrupter_.  It didn't help that my best friend was in Gryffindor, either.  But I'm sure Minerva got it worse from her house than I did from mine.  You Gryffindors have a tendency to set your mind to one way of thinking with no exceptions."

"Minerva?"  Hermione asked.

The matron smiled.  "Imagine my horror and disappointment when she told me she was going to be the _Head_ of Gryffindor house," she 'tsked' lightly.  They knew full well she was joking.

"Professor McGonagall is your best friend?"  Harry questioned.

"For many, many years now.  Try to remember Harry," she said in all seriousness.  "Look to the _people_, not to the house.  Every home has its bugs.  Every dwelling has its stars."

With a final smile and a wish of luck to the twins, the bar matron returned to her duties.

*~*~*~*~*

Potter was late.

It was putting his already foul mood into nosedive.

Grading first year papers was like strapping on an anchor.

The door to his classroom opened.

"It's about time!" he snapped then looked up.  It was not Potter.

"Warrington?"

Ash Warrington: former member of Slytherin House.  The former chaser had graduated Hogwarts the previous year.  Snape had neither seen nor heard from him since.  The young wizard looked extremely pale and shaky.

"P-Professor Snape… I'm… I'm sorry to bother you, sir…"

"Warrington, what in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"

The boy pushed the door in behind him.  He looked to the ceiling furiously blinking back the shiny moisture that was threatening to fall. 

"Sir, I… I don't… I didn't…" He shuffled forward on unsteady feet.  "I--"

A desperate sob tore through the younger wizard's throat.  He dropped to his knees pressing his face to his former professor's knee, tears falling unhindered.  Snape placed his hand on the head of the sobbing boy who was clutching at his robes.

"I—I didn't know where else to go…" came Ash's muffled voice.  "I don't know what to do.  Help me, sir, please!  You're the only one who can help me!"

"War—Ash… what has happened?  You need to tell me if I am to help you."

The boy sat back on his legs and tried taking in some deep breaths to calm himself.  Severus helped the boy to his feet, closed the classroom door and steered him into his office.  He moved him to a chair then went to his stores cabinet.

"I'm going to give you Lilacara Dosa to help calm you down a little," he said pulling down the vial of lavender liquid.  He picked up a silver goblet.

Severus cleared his throat mildly.  "Veritaserum," he whispered, barely moving his lips.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see the door to one of the previously-prepared potions cabinet open a crack.  Seconds later, the bottle of clear liquid appeared on the counter next to him, but out of sight of the disturbed young man.  (Who was holding his head in his hands anyway.)  The professor added two drops of powerful truth agent into the goblet and placed the bottle back on the counter.  It disappeared again and its housing cabinet closed.

He handed the potion to the boy who was rocking slightly in his seat, his arms wrapped tightly about himself.

Ash downed the liquid without question and handed the cup back to the professor.  The boy's breathing steadied somewhat and the shaking subsided.  Snape reclined against the edge of his desk in front of the boy.  He would not allow himself to speak first.  If Ash was to have the strength to get through whatever it was that was troubling him, he would at the very least need to find the strength to speak.

Several minutes passed in silence.  The young man continued to study his lap.  Then there was a loud sniff and a sigh.

"I'm a coward," he said miserably.

Snape waited.

Ash looked up.

"I'm a coward and a disgrace to my family."

"I highly doubt either of those assumptions are true, however, perhaps you should enlighten me as to the reason for this very _un_-Slytherin display."

He sniffed again.  "I--I don't know where to start."

"The beginning is usually considered appropriate."

Ash nodded and took a breath.  He looked to the empty hearth.

"My father… He… Today… {Sigh}…He and some of the… _fellows_, were going out.  I was invited to come along."

"Your first time."

Ash nodded.  "My--My initiation isn't until next month.  My nineteenth birthday.  B-But, father thought I should come along.  Get a feel for things."  He shook his head and watched his lap again.  "Join in the fun," he muttered in a low voice.

Snape waited.  Behind his emotionless visage, a feeling of dread was increasing.  He had an inkling as to where this conversation was going.  He hoped his other 'guest' had the good sense to keep quiet.

"I thought… I thought we were going to find some muggles.  Just… just mess with some stupid muggles.  No harm done.  I mean, they were everywhere, driving around in their stupid autos, speaking on those stupid tel—_whatevers_… We could have grabbed any one of them…"

Snape couldn't find the power to release the breath he was holding.

"Instead…

"I mean… she was muggle… 

"…but…"

He ran a hand across his face.  "We went to a school.  A muggle school… They… We… …She… she couldn't have been more than… seven years old…  She was so small…"

Snape clenched his teeth, but his face remained neutral.

"They… We took her away; a muggle hotel, not far from the school.  Just… apparated into one of the empty rooms…"  He shook his head in seeming disbelief.  "Father, he—he wanted me to watch.  To learn…

"…

"…And the three of them…"

Ash ran both hands through his hair, pulling at his as his head hung low.

"Gods… I didn't know… I'd never imagined…"  He looked up into Snape's face.  "I didn't realize what it truly meant.  What we're expected to do."  He shook his head.  "I'm not ready," he cried.  "I'm weak.  I could barely watch…"

Ash began to sob again and Severus handed him a handkerchief.  After he'd settled some, he continued.

"She was a muggle.  A damn, filthy muggle!" he said, apparently more to himself.  "They're dirt!  They're cattle!  It's not supposed to matter…!"  He was yelling at this point.

Snape remained silent.

"But all I could think about… All I wanted to do… was to curse the hell out of my father… and his friends… and to get her the hell out of there!  She was so scared," he added in a small voice.

"And afterwards, after they'd killed her and left her for the muggles to find… Out in the streets, all those muggles in their stupid autos and on their stupid talking machines…  They… they didn't seem… I couldn't just… They seemed like…"

…_People_, Snape finished mentally.

"People," Ash said.  "And I hated them even more for that."

"What is it that you want of me, Mr. Warrington?"  He asked flatly.

Ash's head snapped up.  He looked at his former Head of House with pleading eyes.

"Tell me what to do," he implored.  "I was raised to follow the Dark Lord.  But I… What if…"

"Are you questioning Lord Voldemort?"

"No!  I just…" he sobbed.  "This is what I meant!  I'm a coward!  I don't _feel_ like a Death Eater.  What if… what if muggles… aren't all that bad.  I mean… they are.  I hate them, but… is destroying them the _only_ way.  Most of them don't even know about us?"

"You _are_ questioning Lord Voldemort."

"…"

Ash blinked at him.

"I _am_ questioning Lord Voldemort," he said more steadily than anything else he'd uttered so far.  "And for that, I must die."

"For betraying Lord Voldemort," Snape said stiffly, "death can be your only assignment.  All of our kind would have you pinned as a target."

"Then it's done," he said solemnly.  "At least maybe I can… have an honourable death.  Perhaps my father won't be shamed."

"Your life outside these walls is forfeit.  There is nowhere for you to hide, is there?  No one would to protect you, would they?"

Snape pierced him with his gaze.  "For _who_ in this world would _dare_ risk Voldemort's anger?  _Who would dare_ to stand up to the Dark Lord, just to protect, one confused young man?  To give him time to 'think things through'."  He leaned in until his face was mere inches from Ash's.

"_Who_.

"_Would_.  

"**_Dare_**?"

Ash did indeed look confused.  The emotion on his face showed that he clearly expected Snape to hand him over to the Dark Lord right then, or to kill him, himself.

Then.

Dawning.

Ash's eyes seemed to light up in understanding.  Snape straightened, as did the young man.  The boy set his jaw firmly.  An enormous weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders.  Snape knew very well, that another would soon replace it, but for now, it seemed enough.

Snape, satisfied stood up and walked behind his desk.

"Get out of my sight, Mr. Warrington.  Your father has by now discerned your location.  I question your fitness to become a Death Eater.  As your former Head of House, I shall give you leave tonight.  Keep in mind, however, that the next time I _see_ you, I will be _expected_ to kill you."

Ashe stood.  "I understand, sir. Good-bye."

The younger wizard turned and left the office without further comment.

Snape pointed his wand at the fireplace and lit it.  He grabbed a pinchful of powder and threw it at the flames.

"Albus?"

A few moments later the Headmaster's cheerful face appeared in the flames.

"Severus.  What can I do for you?"

"I thought it prudent to inform you sir, that there is an unscheduled person on the premises."

"Indeed?"

"Mr. Ash Warrington is in the castle.  He appears to be lost."

"I see," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.  "Thank you, Severus.  I shall see to it that he is given some assistance."

Snape nodded slightly and the floating head disappeared.  He remained where he stood, staring at the flames.

"There will be no further lesson tonight, Mr. Potter," he said without emotion.  "Return to your common room."

The door to his office opened again and closed.

*~*~*~*~*

A beautiful Sunday morning saw the school excited for their second day in the Wizarding village.  Dumbledore encouraged them all to take advantage, hinting that the next Hogsmeade weekend might not be for some time.  The Gryffindors in the Order didn't know if this was true or not, but it had the desired affect.  An hour after breakfast, Hogwarts was all but deserted.  The first and second years were mostly outside as Madame Hooch had opted to organize an Intramural Quidditch day.  Several teams of first and second years competed for Hogwarts first Intramural Cup.  The Teams were organized on the spot – mixed, with a mandatory of one student from each house on every team. It would be an experiment, but it was hoped that because of their young age, inter-house rivalries would not be as cemented into their psyches.  Those not participating were pleased as punch just to watch and cheer.

The Order students knew they'd be gone for hours.

Professor Flitwick wanted to see Hermione a half hour after the other students left.  Sirius likewise wanted to meet with Fred and George.

The remaining four would meet with their trainers after lunch.

Ron and Harry grabbed a few sandwiches and spent the lunch hour in the common room playing a game of Exploding Snap.  They finished early and headed off to meet with their respective mentors, Harry with his Invisibility Cloak tucked into his robes.  As empty as the school was, it wouldn't do to take chances.

"…Do you smell… burning… hair?"  Ron asked when they were not far from the Gryffindor house.

Harry sniffed and wrinkled his nose.

"What _is_ that?"

Moments later they got their answer.  Fred and George came traipsing towards them, grinning like idiots.  Their faces were blackened by ash and soot.  Their formerly red (now mostly black) hair was singed and standing on end.  They never looked happier.

"What happened to you two?" their younger brother asked.

Their grins merely widened.

"Top secret," Fred smiled.  "Harry, you really should have introduced us to Snuffles _much_ earlier."

"Yeah," agreed George, shaking his head with regret.  "So much time wasted," he 'tsk'ed.

They continued on past the younger Gryffindor's, en route to the common room.

Ron and Harry looked at each other.  They smiled.

It looked as though Gred and Forge were back.

Zonko didn't stand a chance.

*~*~*~*~*

As Dumbledore's office was closer, Harry accompanied Ron to it first, before making his way down to the dungeons.  Ron attributed this to what he believed had to be Harry's desire to spend as little time as possible with the Potion's master.  Any sane person would feel that way.  He couldn't understand how Harry was coping with spending so much time with the greasy git.

Just before reaching the corner that led to Dumbledore's stone gargoyle, Ron heard a very familiar voice in a very _unfamiliar tone._

"Don't walk away from me, Headmaster!  I know you're behind this!"

Ron and Harry widened their eyes and looked ate each other.

"Percy?" Ron whispered to Harry in disbelief.

Both boys ran to the curved corner and peeked around it.  The curve of the hallway and the relative darkness of the corridor, allowed them to see, but remain largely unnoticeable as long as they stayed still.  Percy and Professor Dumbledore were standing just outside the stone gargoyle.

"Percy…"

"_Professor--" the angry young man interrupted.  "My family yells.  We play jokes on each other.  We tease.  We DO NOT keep secrets.  We do not __hide things from each other.  Not like this.  My family has been talking in secret.  Conversations end when I enter a room.  My own mother and father look at me and I can see the see the discomfort in their eyes.  This is __not how Weasleys behave!  Not normally.  And I __know you have something to do with it!  You're the __only person alive who could do this."_

"Percy, I have done nothing that--"

"_Don't give me that!_  I want to know what it is you're doing to my family!  Are you putting them in danger?!"

"These are dangerous times, Percy.  You know that."

"You have NO RIGHT to usurp our lives like this!  We are _not_ your puppets!"

  
"Percy…" Dumbledore tried again, his eyes holding a restrained sadness.  "There is nothing that I can tell you.  I'm sorry.  I truly am."

Percy was clenching his fists at his sides.  And for a frightening moment, Ron feared that his angry brother was going to hit the older man.  Instead, he turned his back to him, now facing in the direction of the spying Gryffindors.  His eyes and teeth were as tight as his fists.

"I don't believe you, Headmaster," he said with quiet venom. He sighed, steadying his breath.

"I've always respected you… until now.  I cannot force you to tell me what it is you're doing to my family, nor can I make you stop."  He held Dumbledore's gaze.

"…But so help me…" he said dangerously. "if _any_ of them are injured, hurt or _worse_ because of your… _manipulation_… you will regret it."

He took a tense step away from the distraught professor and looked up.

"Ron?"

Ron's red hair was visible even in the slight shadows.  His height gave no mistake of it being Ginny.  He and Harry straighten up from their crouch.

"Er… we were just--"

Percy walked quickly to them and placed a strong hand on his brother's shoulder.

"I need to speak with you," he said urgently.

"Percy…" Dumbledore began in a warning voice.

"YOU WILL NOT PREVENT ME FROM SPEAKING TO MY BROTHER!" Percy yelled, his head whipping around with even more venom.

Dumbledore signed and closed his eyes.  Percy steered Ron away leaving a divided looking Dumbledore and a confused looking Harry in their wake.

*~*~*~*~*

"Perc!  _What are you on_?!  You can't talk to Dumbledore like that!"

"Dumbledore may be the most powerful wizard of our time, but he's still just a man.  He makes mistakes."

"But Perc--"

"Look at what happened with Harry and the Dursleys!  Everyone kept telling him it was a mistake, but he refused to listen!  Harry could have been killed!"

Ron paled at this.

"You agree with me on _that_ point at least.  I can see it."

Ron swallowed with some difficulty and nodded.  Indeed, he had been furious when he found out what had happened to his best friend.  Not just at the Dursleys, but at the man who had put him there.  It still bothered him, but to a lesser extent, mainly due to the fact that Harry didn't seem to blame Dumbledore in the least.

"You and I," Percy continued, looking at Ron steadily, "we trade barbs.  We insult each other.  We play mean jokes.  But we're still family and we still love each other."

Ron again nodded slowly.

"Dumbledore may mean well, but I don't want another one of his 'mistakes' costing this family.  He's _not_ one of us.

"It won't Perc," Ron said.

"It already has!  Weasleys love a good row, but we've still always been close.  That's changing now.  I'm family.  I'm being pushed out and you're all letting him do it.  He's not one of us, Ron.  He has no right to dictate how we run our lives!"

Percy sounded as though he were pleading.  He was definitely hurting, and as much as he annoyed Ron at times, he never wanted to cause his brother pain.

"Ron… Please… tell me, what's going on… I can't bare this.  I feel like I'm being punished, but I can't think of anything that I've done wrong.  Mum and dad are stopping conversations when I walk in the room… They won't talk to me… I--I'm being pushed out of this family and I--"

Percy's voice cracked and he turned away.  Ron's anger towards Dumbledore flared again.  How dare he put them in this position?  He imagined himself in Percy's place.  He'd go mad if he thought his family was pulling away from him.  He had a near over-whelming urge to tell Percy right then and there everything he knew… about the order, about the training…

…Training.  He was being trained to be a leader.  A strategist.  Trust was paramount.  If people were to follow his plans, he had to be trusted.

…And Dumbledore trusted him to keep the secrets of the Order.

…Damn.

"Perc…" he began slowly.  If it were at all possible, Percy's face fell even lower.  "Perc, I can't… tell you… what it is.  You're partly right.  I can tell you that much.  Dumbledore is part of the reason, but he's not the whole reason.  We're not trying to push you away Percy, it's just… this is… _bigger_… that all of us…

"I wish I could tell you.  I really do… but… there's just too much at stake right now.  You'll just have to trust us.  I hope you understand… I'm sorry."

Percy closed his eyes.  After a moment he straightened up and took a deep breath.  When he opened his eyes again, he pinned Ron with the most sincere, yet regretful look he'd ever seen.

"I'm sorry too, Ron," he said, solemnly.  "I--Just promise me that… whatever  all this is, whatever is happening… promise me you'll stay safe, and that you'll keep the family safe."

"Percy, it's not as lost as that…"

"I think it must be.  Why else would--  Just--- just promise me Ron."

Ron looked intently into the face of his older brother.  The two were nearly the same height, Ron being almost an inch taller.  Percy was one of the few people Ron could look directly in the eye without having to crane his neck.  It made it all the more difficult to see the emotion playing in the other wizard's eyes.

"I promise," he said firmly.

Percy clapped him on the shoulder once more and then surprisingly pulled Ron into a tight, restricting hug.  Ron had just realized that he ought to hug the man back when Percy gave him a final squeeze (Ron was also surprised at how strong his brother was) and spoke.

"Take care Ron," he said quietly, with much emotion.

Then he marched off down the corridor without looking back.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry couldn't wait for Ron to return.  He couldn't afford to be late again for his meeting with the Potions master.

He first went to their training room, but the Professor wasn't there.  Harry then went to the classroom.  The door to Snape's office was ajar.  Harry listened carefully and after not hearing anything other than the scratching of a quill, he knocked and entered.  Snape was at his desk marking the very same papers he hadn't been able to finish the night before.  He didn't acknowledge Harry's presence at first.  Harry stood in front the large desk and cleared his throat.

"I'd… I'd like to apologize for being late last night, sir."

Snape put the quill down, folded his hands and looked up at the boy.  "And the reason for said tardiness?"

"…I saw someone that I didn't think belonged here.  I wanted to… to see what I could see."

"And what precisely did those Gryffindor eyes of yours see, Mr. Potter?"

"…Someone who needed help."

Snape raised a curious eyebrow.  It was obviously not the answer he was expecting.

"What's going to happen to him, sir?"

Snape paused.  "That, I do not know, Mr. Potter.  He's asked the question.  It's a start.  The rest shall be up to him."

"The question?"

"Change always begins with a question, Mr. Potter.  We can only hope that Ash is prepared to deal with the answer.  Regardless, I don't really have to say what's expected of you on this topic, do I?"

Harry shook his head.  "I never saw anything, sir."

Snape gave a curt nod and stood up.  "Very well.  We have much to cover tonight.  You're cloak, Mr. Potter."

Harry replaced his cloak and followed the teacher to their training classroom.

"We're going to begin to work on actual spells today.  You will need to concentrate on what you have learned in these past weeks.  Summoning your magic and focussing it.  Do not use the words.  They will limit you."

Harry knitted his brow.  "How am I supposed to do a spell if I don't say the word.  The word _is_ the spell."

Snape sighed irritably.  "Have you learned nothing from me, boy?  The words don't matter, Potter.  True magic is not limited to sounds and syllables.  It's your thoughts and your needs which steer the magic.  Words are a focus point, but they are not the trigger.  YOU are."

From his robes he pulled out a small piece of parchment and summoned a quill form the air.  After writing on he shoved the parchment into Harry's hand.

"Read this," he commanded.  "Exactly as it is spelt and as thought it were a charm."

Harry cleared his throat.

"SHOW-KRU HONE."

Nothing happened.

"Now.  Say it again, but this time, concentrate on summoning that book on the desk there."

Harry regarded the man oddly for a moment, then did as he commanded.

"SHOW-KREW HONE."

The book flew to his hand.  Harry looked at it.

"Was, that… was that wandless…?"

"As you were holding your wand, I'd say no," Snape replied sourly.

"But, I didn't summon it.  I mean, I did, but I didn't use the Accio Charm."

"Yes, you did Mr. Potter.  You just used it in Japanese.  I wrote it phonetically so you that even you could not mess it up.

"You thought of summoning and when you said the words the book came to you.  You did not know what words you were speaking but your mind knew what it wanted.  _That_ is what the magic was responding to."

"So… spells are useless then?"

"Spells are a focus.  The human mind, even yours, does a great many things all at once.  A spell leaves no doubt of your intent.  The more powerful the spell, the more of your mind's resources need focus.  So for those spells, you will continue to use words.  You need to practice working without words for the smaller spells.  This will make you stronger.  The magic will become almost second nature to you."  He paused, a smirk creeping up onto his face.  "And do not forget the added advantage of your opponent not knowing what you are about to do."

"How Slytherin."

"Precisely.  Shall we?"

*~*~*~*~*

For nearly two hours Harry re-learned his first and second year charms.  He summoned and levitated small objects that Snape had conjured up.  He locked and unlocked the door and lit and extinguished the torches that lined the room walls.

It was difficult.

It would have been more so without the previous training and control.  With each new spell, Harry would have to try several times before anything happened.  But the more he practiced the spells, the easier they became.  His wand would have been much, much easier and less taxing, but Harry felt a growing sense of accomplishment whenever he achieved the desired effect.

Then he was bidden to try something a little harder.

*~*~*~*~*

Professor Snape inclined his head slightly indicating that they should begin.  Harry didn't have time enough tot blink before he was hit with a Stinglebee Curse.  His entire body felt the same as his leg whenever it would fall asleep.  Pins and needles all over… times a hundred.  Snape waved his wand and with a bang, the pressure increased.

"The purpose is to stop me, Mr. Potter."

He increased the pressure again.  Harry sank to one knee.  How was he supposed to concentrate on attacking or defending himself when it hurt so much?  All he wanted was the pain to be off of him.  That, and for the Potions master to hurt himself.

"This is rather pathetic.  The great Harry Potter--"

Shut up, Harry thought.

"--cannot even deflect a simple stinging charm."

Shut up!

"Where is that famous Gryffindor pride?"

SHUT UP!

"What would your parents say?"

_CRACK!!!_

Snape went flying backwards over three rows of desks, crashing into the fourth.  He hit the floor with a hard 'thud' and did not move after that.

Harry, likewise, stood frozen in his spot.  His entire body tingled from the effects of the Stinglebee Curse and the power he had used to launch his teacher across the room.  It took several moments before his senses returned to him, along with a deep feeling of dread.

"Oh, Merlin… Oh, my god… Professor?  Professor Snape?  Are you all right?"

Harry took several static steps forward.  Snape, on his side, still wasn't moving.

Oh, god, I've killed him.

Harry crouched down and reached his hand out.  The supposed corpse coughed.  Harry jumped back.

"Professor?"

The Potions master coughed twice more and rolled onto his arms.

Harry reached his hand out again.  "Professor, are you--"

Snape's head whipped up and he shot Harry a look that would flash freeze lava.

Harry immediately backed off and stood up.  Snape pushed himself off the floor and concentrated on brushing the dust from his robes.

"I—I'm sorry Professor.  I didn't know I would--"

"I think we are finished for today, Mr. Potter," Snape snarled, continuing his ministrations.  He turned his back to the boy.

An unexpected heaviness filled Harry's chest as he gathered his things and started for the door.  The Potions master's quiet voice caused him to halt in his tracks.

"Ten points to Gryffindor."

Harry turned.  Snape was retrieving his wand from the floor, his back still to Harry.  The boy knew better than to say anything and left quickly, the phrase 'High praise form Caesar' running through his head.

As he trotted back towards Gryffindor tower, a strange grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

*~*~*~*~*

"…And forty points I believe would be appropriate Mr. Longbottom."

"Th-Thank you Professor, but, Professor Sprout already gave me thirty."

Ron's eyes nearly fell out of his head as Neville and Professor McGonagall stepped through the portrait hole.  Harry and Hermione could scarce believe it themselves.  First of all, occasions where Neville _earned points for Gryffindor were rare in and of themselves.  Now there were two professors awarding him points… and he was suggesting to turn some down?!_

"Fine.  Then consider the forty for your perseverance," McGonagall said.  "You've done your house proud."

She squeezed Neville's shoulder momentarily before disappearing back out the portrait.

The trio pounced on the red-faced Gryffindor.

"Neville!  Seventy points!  What did you do?" Hermione squealed.  The common room was empty except for the trio and Neville as everyone was still at Hogsmeade, playing Quidditch or in training.

Neville shrugged bashfully.  "I… managed to cross-breed a Mandrake Root with a Laedidel Root."

"But that's impossible," Hermione pointed out.  "They hate each other.  They would never even be seen in each other's company.

Harry shook his head and tried to remember that they were talking about plants.

"What does the Laedidel Root do?" Ron asked.  Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Honestly.  Laedidel Root is a healing plant.  It's the main ingredient in Pepper-Up potion."

"And these plants could never be crossed before?" Harry asked.  Neville shook his head.

"No.  They're both rather… _herbocentric_ plants.  They think that other plants are beneath them and each sees itself as the social better.  So when ever anyone tried to cross-pollinate them, they rejected the match."

"So how did you manage it?"  Hermione inquired.  Neville went red again.  He shrugged.

"I… got them drunk. Firewisky."

The trio looked at each other silently for a moment, before bursting into laughter.  Neville joined them.

"Bloody brilliant, Neville!" Ron said, clapping the boy on the back.

"Thanks, Ron," he said.  "There's only one problem now.  Professor Sprout said that the seedling they created is a brand new plant, and since I'm the one who figured it out, _I_ have to think of a name!"

"Have you got anything in mind?"  Hermione questioned.

Neville blushed, his familiar bashful face coming back at full force.  He ducked his head.

"Well I… Sort of… But it's… It's dumb…" he said quietly.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Neville.  What is it?"

He blushed deeper and shrugged sheepishly.

"Reva Root," he mumbled quietly before scuttling up the dormitory steps.

Hermione looked at her friends puzzled.

Harry gave a sad little smile.  "He's named it after his mother."

*~*~*~*~*

After Neville's departure, the trio settled themselves back into the plush chairs and continued with their interrupted conversation.  Hermione quickly re-invoked a privacy spell.  The common room was empty save for the three, but if anyone else were to enter, all they would hear would be the tail end of a lively conversation about Quidditch.  Enough time for the three to end their true discussion.

"If I'd known that blasting Snape would've _gained_ us house points, I would've done it years ago! …Repeatedly!"  Ron said.

"Ron, that's not funny," Hermione chastised.  "Harry, are you sure he was all right?"

"He seemed fine to me," Harry replied.  Besides, with everything else I've '_seen'_ him go through, he thought, a little tumble into some desks is nothing.  "But I don't think he'd take to anyone else knowing about it.  So…"

"We won't say anything, Harry," Hermione said, jabbing Ron with her elbow and thereby silencing his imminent protest.

There was a loud 'CRACK' sound from just inside the portrait door, causing the three of them to jump to their feet, wands drawn.  Dobby the house elf widened his already large eyes looking pathetically remorseful.

"Excuse, Dobby, Harry Potter, sir.  Dobby did not wish to frighten Harry Potter and his friends," he apologized. "Professor Dumbledore has sent Dobby, sir," he continued.  "Professor Dumbledore wishes Harry Potter and his two friends to follow Dobby now."

"Follow you where, Dobby?" Harry asked, his wand already re-stored into his robes.

"Oh," Dobby began wringing his hands.  "Dobby cannot say sir.  Strict instructions Dobby has.  But Dobby _wishes_ he could tell Harry Potter.  Harry Potter has been so good to Dobby.  Maybe if Dobby gave Harry Potter a hint…"

The elf looked torn, his loyalties drawing him in two directions at once.

"That's alright, Dobby," Ron said.  "You don't have to tell us.  We'll follow you."

Dobby wrapped his thin arms tightly around Ron's legs.

"Harry Potter's Wheezy is _so_ good to Dobby!  Harry Potter has the _kindest_ friends!"

"Yeah, yeah, um… Dobby," Ron said, prying the elf's arms from his legs, "Shouldn't we be going.  We don't want to keep Dumbledore waiting."

"Yes, yes!  We must go!  Follow Dobby!"  And the elf sped towards the portrait.

The trio looked at each other and shrugged before following.

*~*~*~*~*

Dobby led them down through the school to the level just above the dungeons.  This area was not as gloomy as the Slytherin domain, but it was similarly bare and not exactly welcoming.  No classes had ever been held in this part of the school.  On one of their nightly excursions under Harry's invisibility cloak, he and Ron had discovered, much to their disappointment, that the rooms they could gain access to, were all empty.

The liberated House Elf stopped in front of a large wooden door with iron crossings.

"Good luck, Mr. Harry Potter, sir," Dobby said, and then disappeared with another loud 'CRACK'.

The hairs on the back of Harry's neck began to stand up in warning.

He opened the door.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, do come in," Professor Dumbledore said.

The Headmaster was standing at the far side of the dark room, which was lit by only five blue flamed torches.  Professor Snape stood grimly a ways to his right and Sirius was equidistantly to Dumbledore's left.  Professor McGonagall was to Sirius's left and Remus stood between her and the Potions master.  Looking down, Harry saw that the teachers were all standing on the points of a large silver coloured pentacle.  The bottom part of the framing circle (between Remus and Minerva) was incomplete.

The door closed behind the three.

"No doubt, you are wondering why I have summoned the three of you here.  I apologize for the added subterfuge, but it was necessary."

He paused and motioned towards the centre of the circle.  There was a smooth oval-shaped blue stone, translucent and shining, resting on a metre tall pike sticking out of the floor.

"We've found a solution to your selective recall problem, Mr. Potter," he explained.  "This is an Argumentum Stone."

Hermione beside him, gave a quiet gasp of recognition.

Dumbledore smiled.  "Well, as it seems that Miss. Granger is acquainted with the Stone, perhaps she wouldn't mind enlightening her friends."

Hermione blushed.

"Well… er… They're quite hard to come by," she started.  "The stone is sort of like a pensive; only in reverse.  Instead of bringing you into the memory, the memory is brought out.  Oh, and it can only be viewed twice.  Once when it recording, and once during its only playback."

"Excellent!  Five points to Gryffindor, Miss. Granger," the headmaster smiled.

Harry was looking rather pale.

"Excuse me, Professor," he spoke up.  "Does that… Will there… Do you mean to say that… everyone here…"

Dumbledore held up his hand.  "I understand your desire for privacy on this matter, Harry," he said solemnly, "And under normal circumstances I would respect that wish, but I'm afraid, the Argumentum Stone requires five fully trained wizards or witches to act as anchors, or it will not work.  So yes, everyone present will be privy to your memories of that day.

Harry looked anxiously around the room

"I fully trust everyone here to behave with discretion, Harry, however, these are _your_ memories.  If you are not content with this current selection, you are welcome to substitute any of us for anyone else.  I'm certain Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would be more than happy to oblige you…"

The thought of the Weasleys, who'd been the closest thing to parents that Harry could remember… the idea of them seeing what had happened to him… no he couldn't have that.  If he had his way, _no one_ would be witness to these memories.  But after his initial conversation with Dumbledore on the subject, he knew there was no way around it.  The Dursleys were in prison.  There would be a trial.  The court would have to know his side of what happened.  Harry even went so far as to think that he'd rather the Dursleys go free and the charges against them dropped.  He did not want to testify.  He did not want everyone to know what had happened to him.  It was just too… embarrassing.   The ancient wizard told him that that decision was out of his hands.  As an under-aged wizard, it wasn't his choice weather or not the Dursleys were arrested.  So they were back to the original problem.  And now there was a solution.  And Harry fought to keep himself from getting sick.

"No," he said quietly.  "No, everyone's fine."

In his peripheral, Harry could see Ron's eyes widen incredulously.  Harry knew all too well what was running through his friend's mind: 'Are you mad?!  Get Snape out of here!'

Harry ignored the look.

"Good," Dumbledore said.  "And though it is not specifically required for the spell, I would like Ron and Hermione to remain at you side… that is, should they wish to.  The Argumentum Stone can be very taxing.  They will act as your supports."

"We'll do it, Professor," Hermione said, without hesitation.  Ron nodded.

"Excellent.  Are you ready Harry?"

NO! his mind screamed.  His throat felt dry and his chest was tight.  His stomach was beginning to feel hollow.  _Was he ready?!_

As he could no trust himself to speak, Harry merely nodded.

"Then step in to the centre please.  All three of you."

The trio did as they were told, the silvery pentacle closing behind them.

Ron and Hermione flanked Harry on both sides.  Dumbledore addressed them, seeing the question in their eyes.

"The two of you need only stand by Harry, supporting him with your thoughts… and physically should he need it."

His friends nodded again and Harry swallowed.

"Harry, you will need to place your left hand on the stone," Dumbledore explained to the obviously increasingly anxious boy.  "At the same time tap it with your wand.  Concentrate on your memories and say: Infeego."

Harry took a deep breath and tried to stop his hand from shaking as he raised it.  He placed the hand on the smooth stone and held up his wand.  Another pause and Harry summoned the memories he'd been trying so hard to forget.  He shivered visibly and closed his eyes.  He steadied his breathing, his rational side telling him that the sooner he started, the sooner it would be over.

His wand tapped the stone.

"_INFEEGO_!"

The stone flashed and a wave of rippling air expanded out from it.

The small room seemed to vanish, as did its occupants.  Each witch and wizard only aware of their own existence as they faded into the memories of what happened to The Boy Who Lived on the day before school began…

*~*~*~*~*

August 31st

Washing Uncle Vernon's car.

It wasn't so bad.  Dudley usually kept his distance.  The whale of a boy was as fond of water (and bathing) as were most cats.  Fifteen years old and his mother still had to bribe him into showering each day. (Duddikins, mummy will give you an extra piece of bacon if you shower this morning.)

His cousin would often watch, smirking from the doorway or the lawn, pointing out how inept he was. (You missed _another spot, Potter.) Fortunately, the tub would usually grow tired of this and go back inside to his telly… usually._

This day, Harry wouldn't be that lucky.

"So, Potter, looking forward to another year at that _freak school of yours?"_

Harry wearily looked at the reflection in the glass.  Dudley and Piers were standing on the lawn, sneering at him.

"Honestly, Dudley," Piers commented, "_My father wouldn't let an incurable criminal near __our car."_

"Oh, Potter knows his place.  He'll keep in line or he knows he'll catch what for."

Harry ignored them and picked up the hose.

So tempting, he thought and began to wet the car.

While Dudley had been referring to Harry's imminent return to Hogwarts the following day, Piers was under the impression that Harry would be beginning his fifth year at St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys; a lie made up by his uncle, who refused to acknowledge the truth in front of anyone who didn't live at Number 4, Privet Drive.

Harry dropped the hose, picked a large sponge out of the bucket and began to soap the driver's side door.  He had to use both hands as neither was working all that on its own; a reminder of his aunt's reaction to the garden spade being broken.  For someone so skinny and shapeless, Aunt Petunia possessed a surprising amount of strength.

"Watch this, Piers," Dudley said, quietly, although not so quiet that Harry couldn't hear him.  He froze.  Those were the words he feared most coming out of Dudley's mouth.

A loose ball of mud splattered against the window Harry had just cleaned.  Dudley and Piers broke into hysterics.  Angrily, Harry turned around.  He saw that Dudley' was already scooping a second handful from the freshly watered garden, which Harry had just finished tending a quarter of an hour earlier.  Harry angrily threw the sponge back into the bucket.

"You know, no matter what your father does to me for being late with the car, if you keep throwing mud at it, Uncle Vernon's going to suffer for it anyway.  You _know you have to go to that business dinner of his tonight.  Do you want him to be late for that?"_

Dudley and Piers regarded each other and for a moment, Harry thought that _maybe Dudley would act his age for once and see some logic in the situation. He knew he was wrong when the softball-sized pack of mud hit him in the chest.  A third hit the door as Piers got in on the fun. Harry signed and leaned against the house.  Might as well let them do their worst and get it over with._

Then again, he though, they'll probably wait till I've cleaned it all off then start all over again and I'll probably be out here doing the garden till midnight too.

"Waaa!!!"  Harry was brought out his revelry as he was sprayed with cold water.  Piers dropped the hose and fell to the ground, clutching his stomach in laugher.

"Looked a might filthy there, Potter," he said once he'd regained his breath.

Harry ground his teeth in frustration.  Don't let them bait you.  Don't let them bait you, he repeated to himself.  He took off his glasses and twisted himself to dry them on the back of his shirt. (The only part of him that wasn't sopping wet.)

"Don't ignore me, Potter!" Dudley bellowed.

Go to hell, Dudley, Harry thought and continued to dry.

_*SMASH!!!*_

Harry felt his insides go cold.

No.  Please no.  Please, no, no, no, no…

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as Harry re-set his glasses onto his face.  He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

He turned slowly… painfully slowly, back to the car.  He thought his legs would go out on him.

There was a large hole in the car's windscreen; a bludger-sized stone from the garden lay in the front seat.  What remained of the car's front window was fractured and fragmented beyond repair.

He wasn't certain how long he'd stood staring but when the ability to the move returned him, Harry slowly turned to face Dudley.  He was beginning to shake.

His portly cousin was standing in the front of the car's bumper, a sadistic grin carved into his fat face.

"You--you really hate me _that much?"  Harry asked quietly, his voice filled with disbelief._

Off to the side, Piers snorted a laugh.

Dudley opened his great gate of a mouth and Harry could almost see the seconds of his life counting down before his eyes.

"DAD!!! DAD!!! COME QUICK!  HARRY'S BROKEN THE WINDSCREEN!!!"

Both he and Piers ran towards the front door, mock horror plastered on their faces.  Moments later, his aunt and uncle came stomping out of the house.  Harry, who had been leaning against the house for support, looked up.

His uncle was a shade of purple he had never seen; almost bordering on black.  His aunt was grasping her throat so tightly, he thought he might strangle herself.  Harry found he only had one single, solitary thought running through his mind:

He's going to kill me.

There was no exaggeration in this thought.  No embellishment.

After all he had already been through, Harry was _certain_ he was about to die.

"Uncle Vernon, I--"

"Get.  In.  The.  House."

"I swear to you Uncle, it wasn't me."

"Get.

"In.

"The.

"House."

Harry swallowed gingerly.  He stepped past his relatives as quickly as he could manage, his back glued to the building, and ran into the house as soon as he was clear.  He didn't stop until he reached his room.

Shutting the door behind him, Harry began to look frantically back and forth seeing nothing.  A familiar hooting caught his attention.

Harry ran over to Hedwig's cage, where she had previously been snoozing, and opened the door.  His beloved pet climbed out onto his arm.

"You'll have to go, girl," he said speaking just under a whisper.  He carried her over to the window.  "It's not safe for you here anymore.  Go to Hermione.  She needs an owl and she'll take good care of you."

Hedwig eyed him suspiciously and gave him a questioning hoot.

"I'll--- I'll be okay, girl.  Don't worry about me."

She hooted again.  The smart owl obviously didn't believe a word the boy was saying.

"Please girl… Please do what I say.  I can't be worrying about you right now.  Just please… go…"

He opened the window and held the owl out.  Hedwig gave him another searching look before fluttering off his arm and squeezing her way through the bars, which were _just_ wide enough for her to fit through.  Outside, she perched herself on the windowsill giving him a last long look.

"Go," he said encouragingly and tried to smile.  The owl narrowed her eyes and then flew away.

Harry watched her for a moment, the pretended smile falling from his face.  He shivered.  The cool breeze coming in the window reminded him that he was still wearing a dirty wet t-shirt.  He found it somewhat odd that part of his mind was worrying that he'd catch a cold when the rest of him was sure he was about to die.

He removed his ever-present vest and tucked his wand into his floorboard hiding place.  Even though he wouldn't be needing it anymore, it had served him well and he didn't want it broken.  Maybe they would bury it with him.  He'd never been to a wizarding funeral before… not one he could remember anyway.

He pulled another over-sized tee shirt from the dresser, but found difficulty in removing the wet one.  He was shaking so badly now, not all of it from the cold, that he could barely lift it from is skin.  He found himself caught up in it with his arm and head becoming tangled in the wet fabric.  After struggling with it for a moment, he finally managed to tug the blasted article off of his head…

…And found himself staring into the eyes of his purple skinned uncle.

He hadn't heard the man open the door, or come into the house for that matter.  Yet there he stood, hand clutching the doorknob, Dudley and Piers snickering behind him.

Harry wanted to swallow, but found that he couldn't.  He dropped the wet tee and slowly brought his open hands up in front of him.

"Uncle Vernon… Please… I swear to you… on my parent's graves---"

Harry never got to finish his plea.

He saw stars as the back of Vernon's fist connected with the right side of his face, sending him the distance of the room.  He hit the floor with an undignified thud, which caused a sharp jarring pain to shoot up his arm from his elbow.  His breath left him and he was unable to gain another as a heavy foot connected with his lower rib cage.  He instinctively moved to curl himself into a ball, but hadn't quite made it before the same heavy foot kicked him just above his left knee.  He cried out and received another kick in the same spot for his trouble.  The crack was audible in the tiny room.  Several more kicks followed… on his legs, his back, his arms.  When Harry finally managed, to curl himself up (most of himself, his left leg was no longer obeying him) Vernon reached down and picked the boy up by his neck with his two beefy paws.  Vernon punched him flush in the face before tightening both hands around Harry's neck and shaking him.

"You! Blasted! Freak!  You've ruined our lives!  If it's the last thing I do, I will make sure _you_ and _your kind_ are wiped off the face of the Earth!"

"Vernon," Petunia said calmly from the doorway.  "The rental is on the telephone, they can have a car here in an hour, but they need your card."

Vernon glared Harry.  The boy was barely touching the floor and was not getting any air.  He was weakly clawing at Vernon's wrist.  His uncle lifted him fully and then threw him to the floor.  He started for the door.

"Dad…?"

Vernon gave a curt nod to his son, walked past his wife and thundered down the stairs.

Harry, on his stomach, raised his head as best he could.  He cast a pleading glance to the door.

"A-Aunt Petunia…"

"Oh, dear…" Petunia said with much grief.

She walked forward.

Stepped over Harry.

Reached through the bars.

And closed the window.

"There," she said walking back to the door.  "Can't have the neighbours privy to your abnormality, now can we?"

She exited the room closing the door behind her…

…leaving him alone with a grinning Dudley and Piers.

Harry closed his left eye as the right one was closing quite nicely on its own.

He never saw who did what, but the two friends proceeded to punch, kick and stomp the defenceless boy with sadistic glee.

By some wicked fate, Harry remained conscious throughout the entire ordeal.

They stopped after a time.  Perhaps someone had heard his prayers.  Perhaps they had just gotten tired.

But this was not the day for Harry's wishes and suppositions.

Vernon had returned.

Harry heard a jingle.  Not quite bell like, more like keys.

But it wasn't keys.  And it wasn't a bell.

It was a sound Harry hadn't heard in many years.

Vernon's belt.

When Harry was younger, he'd been threatened by it.  Vernon would take it off and chase him around the house with it.  Several thousand puddings later and Vernon had ceased the need to wear a belt.  Harry had never seen it since.  But he remembered it: a strip of doubled leather nearly a finger's length in width.  The buckle was cheep metal shined up to look expensive.  A client had given it to him as a gift.

To Harry it was a curse.

Or maybe a nightmare?  He opened his good eye as much as it would allow…

"No…No, please…"

…and immediately wished that he hadn't.

He couldn't stand, or even fully crawl, so Harry pulled himself along the floor with his _better_ working arm until he was literally backed into a corner.  He covered his head and neck as best he could with one weak arm.

The first strike felt like acid on his bare skin.  He lost count of the others as he tried to make himself as small as possible.  It proved fruitless when Vernon, still spitting his vicious ramblings, grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him to the centre of the room.  Above his own cries Harry hear his uncle bark out orders to the other teens still present.

"Dudley take his arms.  Hold him down.  Piers, hold his feet.  Stretch him out!"

Harry thought he would pass out from the pain of his damaged limbs being stretched alone.  But it seemed, the closer any of them got to him, the more awake and aware he actually was.

Dudley sat his enormous girth down on Harry's arms almost completely cutting the circulation to his fingers.  Piers, who wasn't as wide, but thick in his own right, sat on Harry's legs.  He had little time to register that pain as the belt came slicing down onto his bare back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

He struggled madly trying to free himself but he would only be stretched out again.  His pulse roared in his ears mudding the sounds of his own screams, the other boys' laughter and cheers and his uncle's shouts of: "Hold him!  Hold him down!  He's moving!  Hold him tighter!"

It was his Aunt Petunia's high voice which, ironically stopped the assault.

"Vernon dear, you and Duddikins need to get ready.  They'll be dropping the car off soon."

Vernon backed off and stood straight as though he'd just been pruning some roses.  "Right you are my dear," he said in a rather bright voice.  "Come Dudley.  Piers, say hello to your father for me will you."

"Right Mr. Dursley," Piers said climbing off the prone Harry.  Dudley joined him, seeing his friend to the door.

Vernon turned back to Harry and his light attitude left.   At this point, all Harry could do was listen.

Vernon picked his head up by grabbing a meaty fistful of the boy's hair.

"This is it boy.  I've had enough.  Finished!" he hissed.  "Fourteen years you've poisoned this household.  No more.  You're not going back to that school.  You're not leaving this room.  You're not anything anymore."  He turned Harry's head so that Harry was facing him, regardless of the fact that one eye was completely swollen shut and the other was quickly following.  "Tomorrow," he stressed in a frighteningly low voice.  "We. Finish. This… Once and for all."

He released Harry's head with a toss, causing it to hit the wooden floor.  A final kick to the side and Vernon left, locking the door behind him.

It was only then that Harry felt the drowsiness of unconsciousness creeping in on him.  But for the first time since the ordeal began, he did not want it.

"Have to… get… out…" he murmured to himself.  "Can't… stay… have to… get out…"

He used his left arm (the right one was no longer working) and tried to pull himself along the floor towards the bed.  White-hot pain shot up from his left leg making him catch his breath.  He collapsed and rolled slightly onto his right side.  His left pant leg was soaked in blood.  There was an extra point pushing against the material.  The bone above his knee had broken and pushed through the skin.  It was too much for him and Harry finally sank into the comforting dark of unconsciousness.

~~~~~~~

A tapping sound brought him back to awareness.  He was still on the floor of the littlest bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive.  He was still shirtless and still bloodied and still unbearably sore.

But he could move.

He was able (after a few failed attempts) to push himself up onto his knees.

His knees…

Harry thought he must have been dreaming.  It must have been a hallucination caused by the beating.  He could have sworn that his left leg had been broken.  But he ran his hand over the spot.  It was tender and sore, but whole.  So he must have been dreaming…

But in the dim pre-morning light, he could still see the dark patch of dried blood on the same leg.  It puzzled him, but the tapping sound continued and drew his attention to the window.

"Hedwig!" Harry squawked.  His throat was raw and scratched and his voice had suffered for it.

The snowy owl was flapping her wings excitedly from the windowsill.  He struggled to his feet and went over to the window.  Opening it, he held his finger to his lips indicating that she should be quiet.

"Hedwig, what are you…?  Never mind.  I'll be down in five minutes.  Wait for me up the street," he whispered.

The owl hooted quietly and took off.

Harry pulled out the set of clothes he'd previously set aside for that day.  He changed quietly in the dark, not wanting to risk waking the Dursleys by flipping on the light.  He retrieved his few valued possessions from the cache in the floor and stuffed them into his pillowcase.  His wand went into his vest.  His vest onto his back.  The only thing left out was a gift from the Weasley brothers, given to him during his first escape to the Burrow:  a set of lock picks.

And he knew how to use them.

Harry made short work of the bedroom door, opening it carefully and listened out in the hallway.  Vernon's snoring was deep and steady.  Harry picked up the pillowcase and Hedwig's cage.  Shoes in hand, he made his way down the stairs, aware of the location of every creak and groan in the wood.  Sleeping underneath it for so many years, gave him a certain insight as to where to step.  Especially when avoiding the bottom one, which sounded like a thrice rusted door hinge.

He picked the lock to his former sleeping zone and as carefully as possible removed his trunk.  Vernon snorted once and ice water fear ran through him.  But Vernon soon resumed his buzz saw breathing and Harry continued on his way.

He managed the items out of the house and onto the front lawn.

When he heard someone call his name, Harry's heart jumped up to his throat.  Then he realized the voice was coming from the vicinity of his ankles.

"_Sebastian_?" he inquired into the darkness.

"_Isss it time to go to your ssschool now, Harry_?" the snake asked, climbing up onto his trunk.

"_Er—yeah.  We have to go.  Right now._"  Harry began pulling the trunk again.  He dragged it along the grass beside the curb as to still the noise.

"_Harry_?"

"_Yes?_"  He answered without stopping.

"_You're hurt Harry._" The snake had slithered up to Harry's hand and was flicking the air with his tongue.

"_I'm fine, Sebastian._"

"_You need to sssee a Veterinarian._"

"_I said I'm fine!_"  He snapped.

Sebastian was quiet for several minutes and Harry began to feel guilty for yelling at his new friend.

"_Sebastian, I'm sorry…_"

"_I know.  But you ssstill need to sssee a Veterinarian._"

"_… Later._"

There was a hoot from above.  Hedwig swooped down, plucking her own cage from Harry's other hand and followed along with it.

Harry walked to the nearest corner then up to Peekman Street.  Down to Bellywith Road he finally stopped.  He withdrew his wand and held it out to the street.  In seconds there was a loud bang and a large violently purple triple-decker bus appeared, seemingly out of thin air.  The Knight Bus drew to a stop right in front of Harry and doors flew open.

Stan the conductor was a little surprised to see the famous Harry Potter (whom he still addressed as Neville) standing there with a trunk a snake and an owl in the wee hours of the morning.  But who was he to judge.

Harry knew that once Stan opened his mouth, Harry would not likely get a word in edgewise.

"King's Cross, please," Harry said warily and started into the bus.

*~*~*~*~*

The image began to change.  No longer a dawning street in Little Whining, but a smaller indoor area made of heavy stone brick.  The wave was reversing itself, melding back into the Argumentum Stone.  Harry and the others present, found themselves standing back at the Hogwarts in the same little room they had never left.

The re-orienting silence was broken by a sniffle.  Harry looked to his right.  Hermione's face was streaked with tears.  Her eyes were red and puffy.  To his left, his friend Ron was oddly devoid of colour.  He was extremely pale and staring at his feet.  Remus and Sirius each looked a cross between blindingly furious and seriously ill.  Professor McGonagall was dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a delicate handkerchief.  Snape's face was a mask. Nothing new there, but he at least was looking Harry in the eye.  Unreadably.  Professor Dumbledore had his eyes closed.  No one seemed to know what to say.

Frustrated, nauseous and embarrassed, Harry turned and with an angry wave of his hand, banished the entry portion of the circle.  He stormed from the circle and from the room, only frustrated, shaken silence following him.

To be continued…

A/N: (Why is it that every time I go to update, ff.net shuts down? Is it me? Is someone trying to tell me something? :P )

So why didn't Harry use magic? So how was Harry healed enough to get out of the house? So how come a lot of other things… All answers forthcoming. As I've said… There *IS* a method to my madness! Everything I've done or will do has a purpose, either to plot or to character development. And if not answered now, it *WILL* be answered later. I *PROMISE*. Big stuff coming!

Why was Seamus the one doing CPR instead of Dean? Not all muggles know CPR. We all know of it, but it doesn't mean we've all been trained in it. Therefore I don't see it any more likely that Dean should be the one to do it than Seamus.

Lirthe – you got it guys! But don't look for strict alignment, but there will be p.o.v. similarities.

P.A.W.S. – sorry. You all missed on that one. august wind was closest with People Against Wizarding Supreme. I'm not going to reveal the true name yet. That will come later.

SHOW-KREW HONE is a melding of Shokan Suru, the pre-congregated form of 'summon' in Japanese.

I've gotten some e-mails and such about the length of this story, suggesting that I put out shorter chapters to post sooner. Sorry, can't do that. Actually, I have no control over that. The chapters tell me how long they want to be. I only stop when it feels right. And please remember that although I know where this is going and the things I want to happen, this is still a work in progress. I could shoot out short quick chapters, but then I'd have to go back and revise and repost all the time. The quality of the story would drop and from what your reviews are telling me, you don't want that to happen. So I ask you all to be patient. I do post as soon as I can and I'm always writing.

{Oh, and one more note about the Slash thing. What I wrote in my last A/N isn't saying that Slash equals smut. For me, Slash a romantic OR sexual relationship between two people of the same sex. What I was saying about my two upcoming stories was that the one of them was smutty pillow fluff, which just happened to take place in a slash environment. The other story that I said is _actually_ a story, is also a slash relationship, but it's not simple a fluff, smut piece (which could take place in either a slash or non slash story.) Once again, the relationship between Harry and Severus in THIS story is NOT going to be slash. In other words, not romantic OR sexual. Harry's not going to be involved with *ANYONE* in this story.}

Now hit that button! (Come on! You know you wanna…)


	5. More Than Words Stare As Long As You Lik...

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

This chapter dedicated to Claire the Lurker Poet. ;)

**Harry Potter and the Spirits Within**

**by Maven Cree (aka Gates)**

**Chapter Five: More Than Words. Stare As Long As You Like**

Breakfast was a silent affair; at least for the famous trio of Hogwarts.  Hermione and Ron each had wanted to say something, but what was there to say?  A thought would come, one would open their mouth, and the thought would fly away.  They would look at each other, then at Harry seated across from them, then back to their respective meals.

They had followed Harry not long after he'd left the dungeon room.  He hadn't said a word to either of them, or even acknowledged their presence.  He'd simply grabbed his Firebolt and headed out to the Quidditch pitch.

The Argumentum charm had taken so long that the Quidditch games were long over.  The pitch was empty save for the setting rays of sunlight.  Harry took to the skies and flew.

And flew.

And flew.

He flew till they could no longer see him, then the rushing of his broom back and forth was the only thing that let them still know he was still there.  Three hours later, he landed.  He walked past where they'd been sitting, a courtesy, they supposed.

Again, they followed him in silence back to the Gryffindor tower, where he retired.

The silence of the uncomfortable breakfast was broken with a sudden crash.  Errol, the Weasley family's owl had landed in a bowl of apples tipping it over.  The owl blinked in a dazed manner then passed out completely.  Ron poked him, shaking his head, and once he was assured that the owl was still breathing, he retrieved the letter that was still clutched in its claws.

Reading the letter, Ron let out a groan, which caught Ginny's attention.

"What is it?"

"Percy's moved out."

"What?"  George asked from two seats down.

"Percy's moved out.  Mum says he left last night to take a Ministry flat near work."

"Does she say why?" Fred asked.

Ron shook his head.

"We know why," George muttered, just loud enough for the Weasleys plus two, to hear.

Harry's fork clinked loudly onto his plate.  He was looking rather pale but before anyone could question, he picked up his bag and headed for the exit.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other momentarily before grabbing their own books and shadowing after their friend.

*~*~*~*~*

Sirius looked into the viewing cauldron.  The person waiting on the other side of the door wasn't whom he'd been expecting.

He'd asked Professor McGonagall if she would direct Harry to go and see him after his Transfiguration class; his last course before lunch.  But the person waiting on the other side of the door was decidedly not a fifteen-year-old boy.

He swallowed and removed the wards, as she was not keyed to them.

"Arabella?  I wasn't expecting you."

"If this is an inconvenient time…"

"It is… I mean… It's not… I mean… I'm… I'm expecting Harry."

The Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher nodded.  "I see.  Well, I'll only be a minute…"  She paused.  "…Was it… very bad, Sirius?"

"If the Dursley's weren't already locked up…"

"They'll get their's in time. …Can't believe how much that boy's grown…"

"Yeah… Er… Arabella…?"

"Oh!  Yes.  My reason for coming.  Albus mentioned that you were working with blocking charms?"

"How to block blocking charms, yes."

"Yes, well, I have a book that I thought might be of some use."  She withdrew a book from her pocket, no bigger than an egg.  It was just as thick however, leading Sirius to believe…"

"It's too big to carry in its original size."

Sirius nodded reading the tiny writing on the cover: _Proofreading:  Finding Weak-points in Common Spells_.

Arabella shrugged.  "I figured if you can find a pattern in there, it might help with the heavier spells."

"Thank you," Sirius said.  "Really, this should help us greatly."

She nodded again, and there was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well, I'd… best be off then."  She turned and began to walk away.

"Arabella…"

"Yes?"

"…Th--Thank you."

"All for the cause," she smiled and then left the Order's chamber.

Sirius closed and re-warded the door to his chambers.  He let out a deep breath.  

*~*~*~*~*

Percy Weasley stared at the scroll in front of him.  He had re-read the same line six times and could still not tell you what it had said.

_That_ had been uncomfortable, he thought.

Ten minutes earlier, Arthur Weasley had stopped by his desk en route to see Crouch's replacement, Kalvin Smeeg.

They'd properly discussed the necessary requirements for polite conversation: the weather, work and home.  All done with extreme civility.

And then there had been nothing.

Percy made some casual remark about having to finish reading a report on International Dragon-Hide Regulations.  Arthur made his excuse about being not keeping Mr. Smeeg waiting.

And it had ended there.

Percy sighed and tried reading the line again.  This time, he was interrupted by an owl fluttering in and landing on the stack of books on his desk.  The brown bird was obviously a Hogwarts owl, even if you couldn't see the Hogwarts collar it wore.  Hogwarts owls had a certain… _look_ about them.

He retrieved the envelope from the owl's beak and tore open the Hogwarts seal.

_Dear Mr. Weasley,_

_I would like to discuss the unpleasantness that was left between us._

_ If you could find the time to stop by the school, I would greatly appreciate it._

_                                    Until then,_

_                                                Albus Dumbledore_

_                                                Headmaster, HSWW_

Percy scowled and balled up the creamy parchment.  He tossed it into his empty out-tray.  Pointing his wand at it, he set the thing on fire.  He pulled out a fresh leaf of blank parchment and a quill, and with careful penmanship wrote:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_                                                            Kindly sod off._

                                                                        Percy Weasley 

_                                                                        Ministry of Magic,_

_Department of International Cooperation_

"Not many'd have the bludgers to write a letter like _that_ to Albus Dumbledore."

Percy looked up and over his shoulder towards the low voice.

Gadrian Kern, a co-worker in the IC Department, had stopped behind him, his arms full of long scrolls.

"You're not actually going to send that, are you?"

"I don't see what business that is of yours," Percy replied, rolling up his response.  He tied it to the owl's leg and sent the bird on its way.  Kern observed Percy with an eyebrow raised in intrigue.

"Well, Weasley, I suppose there's something to you after all."

"Am I supposed to be flattered, Kern?"

The sandy haired man, ignored the comment.

"So what's the old bird done to set you off?"

"Old bird?"

Kern leaned in.

"You're not the only one not exactly a fan of the old headmaster," he said quietly.  "So what's he done?"  Kern leaned against Percy's desk.

Percy gave the man a searching look.

After a minute, he shrugged.  "I don't know what he's done, exactly.  Except for what he's always done.  Sticking that great crooked, nose where it doesn't belong."

"He's asking something of you?"

"He's manipulating my family, somehow.  Got them wrapped around his wand, he has.  I don't know what he's doing to them, but they're blocking me out."

"I told him what I thought to his face.  The knackered old fool as much as admitted it to me.  But he still won't say what's going on.  He's just sent me an olive branch," Percy said pointing at the smouldering letter.

"And you've swatted him over the arse with it."

Percy smirked.  "I suppose you could say that."

"I heard of that little row the two of you had."

This time it was Percy who raised an eyebrow.

"It's not everyday Dumbledore gets a dressing down form a former Head Boy, you know.  My sister's in her seventh year.  She told me about it, though… the details were rather sparse."

"And you're dying to hear the rest."

"A little extreme, but I wouldn't be opposed… been wanting to tell off the ole' coot for years, myself."

Percy seemed lost in thought.

"Taken lunch yet?"

Percy shook his head.  "Not yet.  Wasn't really planning to today."

"Come now!  Second most important meal of the day!  There's a little place 'round the bend.  People mind their own, down there."

"So, should I find myself with the sudden urge to say anything against the illustrious Albus Dumbledore, I needn't worry."

This time it was Kern who smirked.  "Well, let's just call it a safety.  Come on Weasley, I'll buy."

"I don't need charity," Percy said sharply.

Kern held his hand up defensively.

"None intended.  Newly on your own, you can't be eating all that well."

"What are you on about Kern?  Have you been watching, me?"

"Let's just say, you're a little more interesting than I'd first thought.  Not easy to find friends who share certain… potentially confrontational view points…"

Percy took off his glasses and cleaned them on his robes before resetting them.

"…Just round the bend you say?"

Kern nodded.

"All right."

"Good," Kern said, straightening up.  "Just let me drop these on my desk."

Percy grabbed his cloak intending to follow.  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Percy."

"Father?"

Arthur Weasley looked from his son to the man standing behind him.

"Heading out?  I was… hoping we could talk."

"Unless you've changed your position Father, I don't think we have anything to talk about."

It was obvious this comment hurt the elder Weasley.  He looked over to Kern.

"I, er… didn't know that you and Mr. Kern were… friends."

Percy shrugged into his cloak.

"I'm afraid there's much you don't know about me, Father," he said.  He turned and followed Kern, stopping after a few steps.

"Tell Mother I said hello," he requested, over his shoulder, then continued without waiting for a response.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry sat stonily in the in the soft chair.  He refused to meet his godfather's eyes.  He refused to speak.  It had been ten minutes.  Sirius was digging his fingers into his palms in an attempt to remain calm.

He'd known it wouldn't be easy to get Harry to talk (the boy had Lily's stubbornness in spades), so he'd started off light.

Quidditch.  Always a subject of enthusiasm for both of them.  He'd asked Harry how the team was shaping up, and more poignantly, how Ron was doing.  Harry's best friend had been placed in the Gryffindor team's Keeper position, left vacant by Oliver Wood two years earlier.  Sirius, in dog form had accompanied Remus down to watch the tryouts a few weeks before.  Ron had been brilliant.  Not a single Quaffle was allowed by him.  No one else had even come close in the tryouts.  Natural talent was key of course, but he was also helped along by an early Christmas present he'd received, surprisingly from Fred and George.

A second hand Nimbus 2000.

Harry had scoffed to Sirius about how he was affronted that a Nimbus 2000 could be considered 'second hand'.  He loved his Firebolt with all his soul, but there would always be a warm place in his heart for the broomstick that had first lead him to Quidditch victory.

Harry told him that Ron and the team were still doing fantastically. It was difficult to squeeze in Quidditch practice along with all their homework and _other_ training, but somehow they were managing.  Their hectic schedules were made somewhat easier by the fact that the first match of the season (which would be held that coming Saturday), was Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.  The first Gryffindor match (against Hufflepuff), wasn't until the end of November.  They would have more time to practice.

They fell into a comfortable silence and Sirius felt there probably wouldn't be a better time for him to try to get Harry to talk.

He couldn't imagine things being more difficult.  As casual as Harry had been only minutes before, that was as ridged as he was now.

"Harry, please.  I know you don't want to talk about this, but you can't just keep things like this inside.  It'll eat you alive."

Harry turned his head so quickly that Sirius started.

"Fine," he said.  "You start then.  Tell me about Azkaban."

The animagus went momentarily pale.  He drew his mouth into a tight angry line.

"This _isn't_ about me," he said steadily.

"Why not?  Can't keep things like that inside Sirius.  It'll eat you alive."

"For your information Harry, I _haven't_ been keeping in.  I did spend a bit of time living with Remus if you'll remember."

"So you can tell him, but not me."

"My experiences in Azkaban are not your burden."

"And my experience with the Dursleys shouldn't be yours either!"

"HARRY!"  Sirius caught himself.  "Harry… I'm you're godfather.  So yes, what happened to you at the Dursleys _is_ my business."  He held up his hand to stop the boy's protest.  "I know that for most of your life, you've had only yourself to depend on.  You've never had any real parental figures to rely on.  But now that I'm back in your life Harry, and I do mean to stay here, I'm going to take up the position that your parents bestowed upon me."  He reached over from his position on the couch and place a hand on Harry's knee.  "No matter how much you've gone through Harry.  No matter how much you are going to have to go through in the near future… you're still just fifteen.  And as mature as you are, and as mature as you may feel, you're not an adult yet.  I'm not saying that I suddenly want to make all your decisions for you, you've been too independent for that to happen now, but we are going to have to learn to make decisions about you together.  All right?"

Harry looked at the floor and muttered something in the affirmative.

Sirius relaxed somewhat and sat back.

"We don't have to talk about things directly today," he said in consolidation, "But there is something you should know.  I'm afraid, what happened may not be a secret for much longer."

Harry looked up in question.  Sirius made a face like he'd tasted something foul.

"Fudge," he said flatly.

"What?"

"Hermione was right.  Argumentum Stones _are_ hard to come by.  The Ministry like to keep track of them.  The witch Dumbledore received yours from was only able to keep it secret for a few hours.  Fudge has to know about it by now and is probably looking into the Dursleys' case as we speak.

"The Aurors involved in the arrests were members of the Order.  They were able to keep your name out of it.  And as I understand it, the rest of the school wasn't aware of where you'd received your injuries.  No word would have been sent back to their parents if your injuries were caused by a scuffle with another student.  Fudge doesn't normally concern himself with menial little things like child assault cases, but since it's you, it's sure to get his feathers in a fluff.  Dumbledore expects that he'll make an appearance any day now."

"Will I… have to show him what's in the Stone?"  Harry asked timidly.

"If you did, you would have to record a new one all together.  With that and Dumbledore working behind you, Fudge may _try_ to order a viewing, but he won't succeed.  He'll have to wait until the trial."

"But he'll still ask me."

"Tell him as little as possible Harry.  Stay away from him completely if you can.  Do you still have the Marauder's map?"

Harry shook his head no, and explained that it had been taken by the Alastor Moody impostor, Crouch Jr. the year before.  He didn't know what had become of it.  Sirius felt multiply sad at this, loosing a piece of his happier days at Hogwarts and not having it for Harry's present security.

"Well, just do the best you can then.  Fudge will be concerned about you, but he'll be even more concerned about his career.  He'll use you as much as possible for his benefit.  Especially now that he's at odds with Dumbledore."

"So… Everyone will know soon…"

"…I'm sorry Harry."

The boy looked so crestfallen it caused a physical pain in the Marauder's chest.  He pulled Harry from his chair onto the couch next to him and slew an arm comfortingly around his shoulder.  Harry rested his head against his godfather's shoulder. Sirius rested his chin on the boy's head.

"Sometimes…" the younger wizard began, speaking just above a whisper, "Sometimes I just really, really hate my life.  And I wish…"

"…What do you wish Harry?"

"…

"…Nothing.  I don't wish anything…"

*~*~*~*~*

"So these bullets… they cut into you like a knife then?"

"Sort of.  They're usually rather small.  Only _this big_ for a hand gun," Dean said, indicating with his fingers. "And they travel really fast.  Almost faster than you can see.  You might only spot a streak if anything.  And they can go right through you or travel around inside of you doing all sorts of damage."

"And how many does it take to kill someone?" Ron asked, fascinated.  Dean had leant him a muggle detective novel, and Ron was questioning him on some of the more _interesting_ aspects of muggle culture.

"It's not how many Ron, it's where they hit.  You can be hit with fifty bullets in your leg and still live.  You'd probably loose the leg, but you could still live.  Then again, one shot to the head would do most people in, though not always.  And if you got hit in a non-vital spot, you could still bleed to death."

"Wow," Ron breathed.

Hermione sighed.  "Honestly!  You both have Potions homework to do!  You shouldn't be wasting your time with such frivolous things."

"Oi, when you ask questions about the wizarding world, I don't make light of it, now do I?" Ron protested.

"You mean there are things that she _doesn't_ know?" Dean asked incredulously.

Hermione ignored Dean and pressed her lips.  "No.  I suppose you don't.  But you really need to study.  And why do you want to know about such nasty things anyway.  Guns are one of the worst things about muggle society, as far as I'm concerned."

"But don't the _please-men_ have them.  If the _please-men_ use them, they can't be all that bad."

"_Poe-lease_, Ron.  _Policemen_.  And they only have them to protect themselves and others."

"How do they protect you?  Is it like when two curses hit each other in a duel?  Do the bullets have to strike each other?"

"No Ron.  It's more of a mental thing," Dean explained.  "If the police man has his gun out, the criminal isn't likely to pull his out, lest he get shot.  Not if he's smart."

"So the police have their guns out all the time then."

"No, only when they're in a dangerous situation."

"So how do they protect themselves if they don't know they're in danger.  They don't have sneak-o-scopes."

"Well, they have protective clothing, that helps."

"Clothing?  I thought you said bullets could go through walls at times?"

"That's it!"

"What's it?" both boys asked.

"I can't believe I never thought of this before!"

"What's she on about?"  Dean asked Ron.

"I don't know, but she's got that 'look' in her eye."

"Dean, you're a genius!" Hermione squealed.  She jumped out of her seat, planted a quick kiss on Dean's cheek and ran from the common room.

Dean put a hand to his cheek, too stunned to notice Ron's glare.

"Woah… What was that all about?"  He asked mistily.

"Hell if I know," Ron muttered bitterly and flipped open his Potions book.

*~*~*~*~*

Ron had never gone into specifics about his training.

He wasn't being held to secrecy; he just didn't know quite what to tell his friends.  Harry was busy blasting Snape across classrooms and Hermione was learning more charms than he knew existed.

And Ron… he was playing chess.

Playing chess and talking.  Talking and playing chess.  That was all he and Dumbledore did.  They didn't even talk about anything substantial.  Quidditch.  Friendship.  Butterbeer…  Dumbledore never even mentioned the fight he'd had with Percy.

It wasn't that Ron disliked the time he spent with the Headmaster.  Quite the opposite in fact.  It was just that he was beginning to feel that he should be doing… _something_ of substance.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair.  The Headmaster had let him in and then disappeared, saying he had something rather urgent to finish up.  A quarter of an hour later, the man had still not returned.  The chess pieces on the Headmaster's desk were getting impatient.

A loud 'TOCK', echoed throughout the office.  Ron looked around, startled.  He rested when there was apparently nothing to be seen.

And then it happened again.  An echoing 'TOCK'.

Ron turned around in his seat.  His eyes immediately focussed on a large table-sized structure in the corner. Strange, he thought. He'd never really paid it any mind it before.  The main part was flat and circular.  There were five brass hoops circling around it at different trajectories, forming a tilted dome. The plate below the dome was also made of brass and had deep circular grooves cutting into it. There were tiny different coloured balls of slightly differing sizes, suspended at differing by tiny brass sticks beneath the dome.  In the centre of the table, there was a large glassy red orb, larger than the other balls.  A gold and brass frame covered the entire contraption.

Rising from his seat, Ron was drawn to the strange item.  He could now see that the twelve little balls were actually planets.  There was another 'TOCK' and twelve hands emerged from the centre-most groove on the brass plate, each hand different from the last, and each hand pointing in its own direction.

Ron narrowed his eyes.

"What in the…"

"Ah, Mr. Weasley.  So, sorry to keep you waiting."

Ron looked up.  "That's alright Professor," he looked back down at the object.  "Professor, is this some sort of muggle clock?"

"It is indeed a clock, but not a muggle one."

"I've never seen anything like it.  Has it been in here all this time?"

"Yes.  Quite unobtrusive isn't it?  But it makes itself known when it needs to."

Ron shook his head.  "It doesn't make sense."

"There aren't many who can read this sort of clock."

"Well, I certainly can't," Ron said.  " 'Cause what it seems to be saying doesn't make any sense."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he reached into his robes.  He withdrew a small golden pocket watch.  He flipped it open and held it out for Ron to see.  This watch had no numbers.  Instead, like the clock, there were twelve planets and again, twelve hands.

"And this?" Dumbledore prompted.

Ron squinted.  "It says the same."

"What do you see, Ron?"

Ron looked uncomfortable.  Dumbledore placed a hand on his arm.

"It… They both say," he began, "that for Harry to live…" Ron pointed at a green planet, which had a ruby coloured hand pointing at it.  "he has to be able to get into Sn—Professor Snape's chambers..."  he pointed at a purple planet heralded by a green arm. "…for the next three days… and Professor Snape can't know about it." he finished.  He looked at the Headmaster.  "See?  No sense."

"Do you know what these items are, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron shook his head.

"These are an Arithmancer's clock and watch."

"Arithmancy?  No wander I've been reading it wrong!"

"Actually, my dear boy, I believe you've been reading it right."

Ron crinkled his forehead.  Dumbledore steered him back to his seat at the desk.

"Mr. Weasley," he said, settling into his own chair, "I believe that you are what is called a Natural Arithmancer."

"_Me_?  But I hate-- er… no offence Professor.  But Arithmancy's Hermione's subject.  All those numbers and equations make my head hurt."

"Well, of course it would," Dumbledore said in a matter-of-fact tone.  "_True_ Arithmancy is more than numbers and equations, Ron.  What we teach here is Arithmancy for the general population of wizardry.  It allows knowledge of probability through numbers and runes based in what the muggles refer to as 'Chaos Theory'."

The Professor leaned in.  "But you, my dear boy, are a _Natural_ Arithmancer.  As was my own dear father.  This was his watch.  You do not need the graphs and numbers.  You can practice Arithmancy _without_ them.  I dare say that those figures you dislike so much may actually hinder your ability… although you may find Runes rather helpful.  And because it is a natural ability, rather than learned, your predictions should be much stronger."

"Are you saying I can predict the future, sir?" he asked, flashbacks of Trelawney's star charts and tealeaves running through his mind.

"Not exactly.  More, you can determine what might most probably come to pass, by following certain key events.  You may prove to be more adept at certain aspects of Divination than others, but only if the prediction is particularly powerful.  You are not a seer after all.  With your Arithmancy you can alter certain events, by changing a single moment or two.  Indeed, this is very powerful, and might I add, rare, magic."

"Are… Are you one, sir?"

Dumbledore shook his head.  Ron thought he looked somewhat deflated.

"Alas, no, I am not.  I do what I can with my father's watch and Headmaster Winterwell's clock, but there is only so much someone without the gift can see.  Were I more blessed, young Harry, may have been spared this summer's sufferings.

"When I looked at this fourteen years ago," he said sadly, looking at the watch, "I saw that Harry would be safest from Voldemort by staying with his blood relatives.  I did not see that he would need protection from the Dursleys themselves."

"No one knew it was that bad, sir."

Dumbledore managed a weak smile and Ron found it extremely unnerving that it was _he_ who was offering comfort to this man, instead of the usual other way around.

"What do you see in it now, sir?"  he asked.  "Do you see what I do?"

The elder wizard studied the face of the watch.  "I see that Mr. Potter will indeed need to know where to find Professor Snape's quarters.  I do not see the reason why, the time period, nor the fact that he must actually have _access_ to those quarters."

"But… what if I'm wrong?"

"What if you're not?"

Ron pursed his lips.

Dumbledore placed the watch on the desk in front of Ron.

"I think this time piece would be best served in your hands, Ron."

Ron's eyes widened.  "You… you're giving me your watch?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Sir, I… I can't take this!  This was your father's!  I couldn't…"

The Headmaster smiled. "This watch was meant to be used by a Natural Arithmancer, Ron.  It is not existing to its full potential in my hands.  In yours, it could very well save many lives."

Ron gingerly picked up the timepiece.  He was speechless.

"Mr. Weasley…"

Ron looked up at Dumbledore's soft voice.

"Use it well."

*~*~*~*~*

"Mr. Creevey…"

"Sir?"

"Are you particularly _fond_ of the skin that covers your face?"

"Y-Yes, Professor…"

"Then would you mind telling me precisely _why_ you are attempting to remove it?"

Colin Creevey remained frozen, eyes wide, his hand shakily holding three pine needles over his brewing cauldron.

Snape narrowed his eyes and spoke through gritted teeth.  "Wolf's blood, _before_ the pine needles, Mr. Creevey.  Five points from Gryffindor for your carelessness."

Snape turned away from the boy, not bothering to take in his reaction.  Fourth year Gryffindors and Slytherins: the group which vexed him second only to Potter's fifth year class.

And his anger at Creevey was second only to his anger at himself.

He had nearly missed the boy's mistake.  A melting cauldron was one thing.  Melting skin was another.

His mind for the most part was otherwise occupied.  It had been three days since Ash Warrington had made his appearance in Snape's office.  Voldemort should surely have learned about the boy's defection by now.  And yet, he had not been called.  It was not that he was looking forward to facing the Dark Lord, but the longer the space between summonings, the fouler… and more sadistic… the wizard's temper would become.

A knock at the classroom door brought him out of his reverie.

"Professor Snape?" McGonagall began, "I'm afraid the Headmaster has asked to see Mr. Castle."

"Yes, yes, fine," Snape said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

McGonagall seemed to ignore his rudeness and turned to small, dark haired Gryffindor.  "Mi—Derek… please gather all your things.  You will not be returning to class."

Severus snapped to attention.  He had heard Minerva McGonagall use that very same wording before.  Too many times before.  Years and years ago.

He caught the eye of the deputy Headmistress.  Minerva held his gaze.  Her lips had tightened into a straight line.  She nodded minutely.  Severus forcefully drew his eyes away and turned them to the small boy who was gathering the last of his books.  Everything in its place, Derek Castle followed his head of house out of the dungeon classroom, without a word.

Completely clueless.

Snape ran his eyes over the rest of the class.  Everything seemed to be progressing without significant trouble.  He made his way to the podium at the front of the room and opened the large tome, which lay upon it.  The page did not matter.  To anyone observing, he was silently reading the potions manual.  He even turned the pages on occasion for good measure.

He didn't read a word of it, however.  His mind was too far away.

Almost twenty years in the past…

*~*~*~*~*__

Severus Snape leaned heavily on his arm as he tried to feign interest in the Potions lecture.  He loved Potions, there was no mistaking in that.  However, Severus's level of Potions competence had long ago surpassed that of the school's syllabus.  He was ages ahead of his sixth year class.  Syllabus aside, he was positive that he could do a better job teaching the course than Professor Rorre.  The man often made mistakes in his teachings, but as his choice of potions were often rather frivolous, no great damage was ever done.  The errors were small oversights usually, but they often had humorous results.  Especially since the mistakes most often happened to those pathetic Gryffindors.  His fellow Slytherins had long ago learned to turn to Severus for confirmation of their actions in that class.  Through pride alone, the Gryffindors would never dare.

_"…and remember, after the ginger, add one breath of fairy dust."_

**_Essence_**_ of fairy dust,, Snape corrected mentally.  Any Gryffindors who hadn't read their textbooks properly would be sporting green hair in a half hour.  Severus smirked at this.  He would correct the Slytherins once the practical lesson began._

_There was a knock at the Potions' room door.  Professor McGonagall opened it and stood stiffly in the frame.  The entire class held its breath.  A head of house interrupting a lesson was becoming rather frequent these days.  The news was never good._

"Professor Rorre," she began. "I'm afraid the Headmaster has asked to see Mr. Potter."

_Potter?_

_"Mi-James… please gather all your things.  You will not be returning to class."_

_The entire class had turned to face the skew-haired boy.  James Potter, 'king' of Hogwarts.  Quidditch star.  Popular among all the houses, (save one).  Treasure of all the staff.  He was receiving the call?_

_The boy sat stiffly in his seat.  His mouth opened and shut silently for a moment._

_The dark haired boy next to him placed a hand on Potter's shoulder._

_"Professor McGonagall, can I—"_

_"No, Mr. Black.  You remain here."_

_Black looked crestfallen for a moment, but gathered himself quickly.  He appeared to squeeze the other boy's shoulder in support.  James blinked and rose from his seat.  He clumsily began to gather his books.  The brown haired creature in front of him put one of his paws on top of James's hands.  Snape scowled at the creature._

_"We'll take care of your things," Remus Lupin told him._

_James nodded and followed his head of house out in a daze._

_*~*~*~*~*_

_It was completely by accident._

_There were certain times when he just felt the need to be alone.  The dungeons, with their many dark and twisting corridors, provided a safe haven of sorts for him.  It was easy to become lost there, if you didn't know what you were doing.  Most students avoided the dungeons, in fact.  Even the Slytherins, when not in their common room, would venture up to brighter regions of the castle._

_That was why it was so peculiar for him to hear the sound of voices coming from an un-used dungeon classroom.  Voices, and heart wrenching sobs._

_Severus had taught himself as a child to walk without sound.  It had made it much easier to avoid his father, if the man couldn't hear him coming.  He crept along the stone wall, keeping to the darkness, until he could hear the voices more clearly._

_"James… James please… Tell us what happened.  We want to help."_

_Black._

_"Here, Peter's brought some water.  Have some."_

_Lupin._

_There was a silence of the sobbing followed shortly by a sputtering and cough._

_"Easy, there mate.  It's going to be all right."_

_"No," came James's abused voice.  "No, it won't…"_

_"Was it… Was there a letter?"_

_Silence._

_Snape assumed Potter must have given a physical response, as there was a sympathetic tutting and signing from the others in the room._

_A letter.  A black envelope from the Ministry of Magic, adorned with a thin silver ribbon and a white wax seal.  The first few had arrived with normal post.  But the upset they had caused in the Great Hall caused Dumbledore to have all letters of that type delivered to his office, so that the students may receive them in private._

_"Your… Your father?" Lupin asked softly._

_There was another sob._

_"All of them."_

_"What?!"_

_James sobbed again, then his voice rose in anger._

_"All of them!  My father!  My mother!  Angel!  Merlin, they killed Angel too!  She was **nine years old**! They're gone!  They're all--"_

_Potter broke down again._

_Snape had at times heard Potter bragging about his younger sister's skills._

_So Potter's family was dead._

_Severus wasn't certain how he felt about that._

*~*~*~*~*

Snape blinked and looked back over his fourth years.

It was starting again.

The Gryffindors were mindlessly tending to their potions, happy it seemed that their Professor's attention was focused on something other than them.

They had no idea.

None of them were old enough to remember.

Snape sighed inwardly and closed the tome.  He'd best teach them what he could while they still possessed what little wits they had about them.

There would be great grieving in the Gryffindor tower tonight.

*~*~*~*~*

Percy pointed his wand at the fireplace grate and a warm fire sprang to life.  He shut, locked and warded the door behind him.

His new home small enough that this sole grate was sufficient to brighten the entire room.  There was a single couch and cushioned chair.  A small breakfast table with two seats.  There was a small kitchenette off to one side and a bed against the opposing wall.

And aside from the cracking fire in the hearth, that was it.

No explosions coming from Fred and George's room.  No ghoul in the attic.  No Molly Weasley bellowing to her flock…

Just silence.

The cramped quarters he could live with; after all, the Burrow hadn't been exactly spacious.

But he didn't think he was ever going to get used to the silence.

He hung his cloak up neatly on its hook and sat down on the sofa, running his hands over his tired face.

It had been an interesting day.

Kern had stopped by his desk again.  There were some friends he wanted Percy to meet.  He'd agreed to join them on Saturday.  He wasn't really sure what he should expect.

Lunch with Kern had been interesting.

They had talked about many things. He'd had his first taste of Firewisky.

And his second.

And he'd ended up telling Kern about his difficulties with Dumbledore.  Kern had apparently had some difficulties himself.  And he knew of others.

It was good to find people who didn't place Dumbledore at the right hand of God.

Perhaps it was the Firewisky (Kern seemed to think it amusing that Percy had never had any before), but Percy had rambled on about everything from Dumbledore to his family.  He loved them.   There was no mistaking that.  But, as Kern so accurately put it:

"They don't really seem to appreciate you Weasley.  I mean, Head Boy, all the hard work you've done at the Ministry, and what do they do?  Make you the brunt of jokes.  Exclude you from whatever it is the old man has planned.  It's not right, Weasley."

Percy promptly made it known that while he detested the way he was belittled by his kin, he wouldn't hesitate to hex anyone into the ground who acted… or spoke ill against them.

Kern had held his hands up defensively.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Weasley," he explained.  "What I was getting at, was that you should surround yourself with people who would appreciate you for what you are and recognize you talents.  Love your family all you want, but you've just told me you don't get that at home."

Rather than respond, Percy had ordered another Firewisky.

And this coming Saturday, he would meet some of Kern's friends.  People whom the man described as those who recognized greatness when they saw it.  People who apparently worked in different departments of the Ministry, and, should they be pleased with him, could prove rather advantageous to his career plans.

Percy leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

Making proper contacts was an intriguing thought.

Still, something of a warning was buzzing around in the back of his mind.

Too tired and too much to think about, Percy lay back on the small couch.  He kicked off his shoes and was soon fast asleep.

*~*~*~*~*

He'd never been able to see anything within black depths of his own eyes.  His piercing glare into the mirror this time was no different.  They were dead, as far as he was concerned.  Two soulless orbs, sharp and biting to whomever crossed their path.  Older, he thought, than they rightfully should be.

Severus sighed and released the edge of the high burrow, colour returning to his overly white knuckles.  He turned and leaned his back against it, the mirror atop it now reflecting his shaky hand running through his not so greasy hair.  He _did_ wash his hair, despite popular opinion.   He'd like to see the others, his colleagues included, spend at least eight hours a day in a fuming Potions classroom and _not_ have greasy hair.

He didn't often spend time observing himself in the mirror.  Just a quick glance in the mornings to make certain that he was prim, pressed and presentable.  Alternatively, it was times like this, when he wanted to remember what he looked like… before…

He moved to the wardrobe and ran his hand over the smooth, polished finish.

His mind absently flickered to thoughts of Harry Potter and the meeting they'd had only a few hours earlier.

It had been the first time he'd seen the boy (aside from meals), since the Argumentum charm had been performed.

The charm had unnerved him, to say the least.  He'd never been party to an Argumentum recording before and he wasn't particularly looking forward to experiencing it again.  He'd secretly been rather surprised that Potter had agreed to him being one of the anchors, but kept his stoic expression, despite Weasley's wide-eyed protest.

Once the spell had been cast, everyone else in the room had seemed to disappear.  He found himself on a quaint little street in Little Whining: Privet Drive.  The Harry Potter in his wizarding school robes had disappeared.  In his place was a much thinner, and slightly bruised Harry Potter in clothing that was much to large for him.  He was attempting to wash a muggle car and being caused no end of trouble by an impossibly fat youth and his rat-faced friend.  He was just far enough away so that he could see the entire scene without even turning his head, which was good, as he didn't really feel that he could move all that freely.  For experimentation, he'd taken a step, and found himself in the exact same spot.  It was obvious that he could have no control or influence in this situation.

He soon began to regretfully wish that that he _were_ more than a mere spectre in this little montage. Severus found that he was aware of the boy's feelings and emotions as Potter felt them.  He wasn't actually feeling them himself, more like an immediate echo.  He was also aware of the boy's thoughts.  He could hear them bouncing around in his own head.

And what he'd heard, cemented what he'd been beginning to realize since the start of term.  Before he'd seen the bruises, Snape had been positive, despite Dumbledore's assurances, that Potter had been just as pampered and spoiled at home in the summer time as he was at school.  But Harry's thoughts in this memory, both conscious and not told of a boy who had been virtually ignored for the majority of his life.  And when he _did_ receive attention, it was usually abusive… physically, mentally or emotionally.  Often all three.  The child only wanted to be cared for.  A feeling Snape had not been stranger to in his own youth.

He, like the other anchors were then forced to play witness to the violence torn into young Potter that day.

It had made him sick.

It had made him angry.

Snape hated being wrong.

However, seeing the events of that day had brought to light an issue which he had been forced to discuss first with the Headmaster, then with Potter himself, during their meeting earlier.

Potter had arrived to their training room, a look of defiance on his face, as though he was daring Snape to even mention the Argumentum charm.

And Severus was only too happy meet with his expectations.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter.  There are a few things we need to discuss."

Severus was used to conjuring different furniture (or lack thereof), depending on what he was planning to teach the boy that day.  That evening he had conjured a teacher's desk and two chairs.  Harry took the seat opposite the Professor.

"I'll get right to it then," he'd begun.  "It appears Mr. Potter, that you are indeed far more powerful than we had first thought.  As such, the intensity of your training will be increased.  I will no longer curtail to your pathetic performances.  You will meet my expectations, or you will sorely regret it.  Is that understood?"

Harry had looked at him with a perturbed expression.

"N—No, sir.  Actually… I don't understand.  What do you mean, I'm more powerful?"

Snape had closed his eyes wearily.  The boy could still be rather dim at times.  With a sigh, he began to explain.

"The strongest form of wandless magic is that used for protective purposes.  It lessens in time as Wizards become more accustom to defending themselves with their wands.  It is believed to be a natural failsafe to protect small children who have no other means of defence."  He paused.

"You, Mr. Potter seemed to have retained that power to a more than impressive degree.  In fact, you seemed to have surpassed normal wizarding defences."

"I still don't know what you're talking about, Professor."

"Firstly, Potter, your leg.  It was broken by your uncle.  You should not have been able to walk on it and yet you did.  Only a medi-witch, wizard or Healer should have been able to mend your limb to that extent by the next morning."

"But how is that defenc—"

"You knew, consciously or otherwise that if you did not leave the Dursley's before your uncle's return, that you might very well never leave."  Snape let the implications of that hang in the air.  "And you could not have left with your leg in the condition it had been in.  When Madame Pomfrey examined you, your leg still had a fracture in it, yet it was strong enough for you to traverse on."  He leaned closer to Harry.  "You healed yourself just enough to get out of there alive.  Defensive magic without a wand is almost always is restricted to an actual attack or impending injury.  If you were to fall out a window, you might float or bounce.  If you were about to be stabbed, the blade might bend.  Action and reaction.  That is the limit of personal magic… at least, it was."

Severus didn't let Harry question.  He continued with his explanation.

"Secondly, this ability of yours seems to have expanded to non-lethal protection.  The Headmaster questioned you about your injuries when you were released from the Hospital Wing," he stated.  The boy nodded.  "I take it, reliving the events of the summer was not something you particularly wanted to do."

Harry did not respond, but his green eyes had confirmed his suspicions.  The boy was frighteningly easy to read.  They would have to work on that.

"You vehemently did not want to repeat the story to the Headmaster.  However, Albus Dumbledore has a way of pulling tales from you regardless of your wishes."  He grumbled the last part.  He was all too familiar with Albus's talent for making a person bare their soul whether they wanted to or not.  "And so your wandless ability prevented you from revealing your personal pain to the Headmaster, despite his best efforts."

"But I was trying to tell him…"

"_Consciously_, perhaps, but the unconscious can be an extremely powerful entity, especially among wizards."

He'd waited then.  There was one more question, if the boy had any intelligence at all, that he would need to ask."

The Gryffindor's breathing had become uneven.  He'd looked worried.  He should considering that which was running through his mind.

"But why--" he finally stammered, "Why, if I'm able to use wandless magic to defend myself, even without thinking about it… Why… _How_ was Vernon able to… I mean… Why didn't… Why didn't the magic kick in?"

"I would have thought that answer to be obvious by this point, Potter.  Clearly I've given you too much credit."  He'd paused.  "The reason that your defences did not 'kick in' as you so eloquently put it, was because part of you, did not _want_ them to."

He had ended that particular conversation there. Let the boy mull what that meant on his own time.  He moved immediately onto the training, and worked the boy until he was ready to drop.  He'd been serious when he said he would increase the intensity.  The famous Gryffindor would be sore tomorrow.

Normally, and perhaps before the evidence of abuse, that would have brought a smirk to his face.

But not tonight.

Not with what he himself was facing.

Snape removed a hooded black cloak from the wardrobe and put it on.  A white mask he hid within the folds of outfit.

The Dark Lord was calling.

TBC…

A/N: So ends the great, bloody chapter from hell!

Erm… 'Headmaster Winterwell's' Arithmancy Clock, for those who would like to know, can be seen in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets.  It is in Professor Dumbledore's office, near the door.  I don't know what this actually is, but to me, it seemed like a Arithmancy clock.  I had at first just had Ron discovering Dumbledore's watch on his desk, but I felt the scene needed more.  Then I saw an on-line image of Dumbledore's office and thought there ya go!  Arithmancer's clock!  I've altered it slightly for my purposes, but if you'd like to see it, here's a link to the official site and a 360-degree view of the office.  You can't miss it. it's the large object to the right of the door (when you're facing the door). 

http://harrypotter.warnerbros.com/vr/cos/dumbledore.html

Or, you could just go to see the movie again. :)

Also please note that my next update will be listed under the name Maven Cree, not Gates.  See ya!


	6. Privileges

**Disclaimer**: See Chapter One.

Special thanks to Drusilla Dax, special correspondent in this chapter and to Arabella and Zsenya for letting me borrow Goldie's Liquid Curse.  Ya'll are bu-t-ful!

**Harry Potter and the Spirits Within**

**by Maven Cree**

**Chapter Six:  Privileges**

Friday afternoon found a jubilant air in the fifth-year Gryffindor's dormitory.  The reason was quite peculiar… for once the Gryffindors were looking forward to their double Potions period with the Slytherins.

The five boys had returned to their dorm to change following a particularly soggy Care of Magical Creatures lesson.  Professor Fletcher had gotten his hands on a Kelpie and the Gryffindors had spent a rather cold hour bobbing around in the lake… fully clothed.

"If you come across one of these," he explained, "chances are you won't be dashed in your swimwear."

Their Potions class the day before last had been a pleasant surprise.  Rather than the black sweeping robes of Professor Snape, the class was greeted by the colourful robes and sparkling eyes of Albus Dumbledore.  Professor Snape, he explained had been suddenly called away on personal business.  Dumbledore himself would be taking over his classes until his return.

The Slytherins had been crestfallen.

The Gryffindors were ecstatic.

They proceeded to have the most enjoyable Potions lesson that they'd ever attended.  Dumbledore proved, much to the dismay of the Slytherins (who'd attempted to slip him up, asking questions that only a _true_ Potions proficient would know) to be quite the competent Potions professor.

"Well he'd have to be," Hermione instilled. "How else could he have discovered the twelve uses for dragon's blood?"

The Gryffindor boys were anxiously preparing for their second class with the Headmaster, which would begin in fifteen minutes.

"Come on," Seamus said, heading for the door.  "Don't want to give Dumbledore a reason to take points."

"Doubt he'd do that if we missed the entire first hour," Ron commented, tying up his shoes.

Seamus opened the door.

"…Oi, Harry!  Someone at the door for you."

Harry squeezed his head through the neck of his jumper and turned to see Sebastian slithering towards him across the floor.

_"'Lo, Sebastian._" Harry said.

Seamus spasmed disgustedly.  "Ugh!  Creeps me out when he does that.  I'm leavin'."

Dean and Neville quickly followed suit; Neville giving the snake a wide berth.

This was not the first time Harry's friend had visited their dormitory.  The first visit, Harry had found Neville standing on his bed, trying to hex the poor Adder and upending the entire room in the process.  He'd then decided it was a better idea to introduce the serpent to Gryffindor house, lest any other similar incidents occur.

_"Haven't got much time to talk right now Sebastian,"_ Harry said, finishing with his shoelace.  _"I've got class.  Do you want to come along?"_

_"All right then,"_ the snake replied.

Harry lowered his arm, the snake slid up it and perched himself around Harry's neck.  Harry grabbed his book-bag and left the room.

_"So what have you been up to, Sebastian?"_

Harry asked, going down the stairs.  He spoke quietly and was rather glad that Parseltongue required almost no movement of his lips.  Sebastian was not immediately visible on his school uniform and he would prefer not to appear to be talking to himself.

Sebastian flicked his tongue silently for a moment.

_"You need a veterinarian Harry."  ****_

_"What?"_

_"You are hurt."_

_"Sebastian,"_ Harry rolled his eyes, a movement lost on the Adder, given his position on the Gryffindor's neck.  _"I'm fine.  No fights, no cuts, no bruises.  I'm fine."_

_"Inssside hurt.  Not where you can sssee.  But I can sssmell."_

"I'm not hurt inside either.  No bad potion.  No bad food.  No internal bleeding.  Honestly Sebastian, I think you're becoming a little paranoid."

The snake slithered up so that he could speak directly into Harry's ear.

"Inssside that cannot be touched.  Inssside that makesss you, you.  Ssspirit."

Harry stopped in his tracks.  He was one flight up from the dungeon steps.

_"I don't know what you're talking about,"_ he said firmly.

"You need to sssee a veterinarian Harry.  Put me here pleassse."

Harry extended his hand to the stone windowsill to his right.  Once Sebastian was upon it, the snake turned his head to look back at his friend.

"You are much ssstronger now, Harry.  But you need to fix your hurt.  You will loossse your balance."  **  
  
**

"I'm fine."

"The Dark One lost his balance.  Only dark now."

The snake turned and slithered away through a space in the wall.

Harry blinked after him, then continued on to Potions class.  

*~*~*~*~*

Severus Snape was dying.

He knew it.  He could feel the life draining from his body with every laboured breath.  His left leg dragged sorely behind him; he was almost thankful that he could barely feel it anymore.  His right knee felt as though it would collapse at any moment.  His right arm hung uselessly at his side and his left arm was hardly able to steady him as he made his way along the dark corridor.  

He stopped and leaned heavily against the stone wall.  The part of the wall next to his head had a small crack in it. He reached into his robes, and withdrew his wand.  He could barely hold the tool in his hand.  He couldn't close his fist all the way around the mahogany.  With great effort (and three tries) he tapped the wand on the crack which was at eye level.  "Atone," he said.  As his arm dropped back down the wand fell to the floor.  The effort had been enough, however.  The crack on the shifted and grew until it looked as though someone had blasted a hole in the wall with a bomb.  It was now large enough for him to pass through.

He sighed and looked at the wand at his feet… as well as he could look.  His vision was completely blurred.  If he didn't know exactly where he was going, he wouldn't have made it this far.  ****

He used the wall to slide carefully to the floor.  It was a long way down. When his hand finally found the wand he picked it up as best could and tossed it through the entrance.  He then used his left arm and heaved himself through the hole.  Inside, he clutched at the wall and by some grace managed to pull himself back to standing.

"Suffer," he muttered and the wall closed up behind him.  He passed the wand on the ground.  If he lived, he would return to pick it up later.

The few short yards to his living quarters seemed to take hours.  He stumbled into the dimly lit apartment.  He was home.

There was no outside light here.  His apartment was located deep within the dungeons of Hogwarts.  He preferred it that way.  No one to bother him.  No one came to the dungeons unless they absolutely had to.  He was left to himself, as he preferred.  Professor Dumbledore was the only other human ever to enter his home and his visits were few and far between.

The rattling in Snape's chest grew and he was drawn into a violent coughing fit.  He collapsed onto the deep coloured rug in the centre of his sitting room.  The coughing continued and he could taste blood in his mouth.  His insides were on fire and his left arm felt as though the meat were slowly being peeled from the bone.  He could not get back to his feet.  The little strength he had, had all but left him.  Not one to give up without a fight, he used his one 'good' arm and one 'good leg to 'crawl' towards his open bedroom door.  He'd be damned if he were going to be found sprawled on the floor in this fashion.  

As fiery as his will was, his body was beyond the point of listening.  He fully collapsed after only a few strides, his head falling heavily to the floor.

He was dead.

He was certain of it.

His body had gone achingly numb.  He couldn't even feel himself breathe.  He closed his eyes.

At least this horrible existence was over.

…Or was it?

He felt a warm, a pressure coming from… somewhere.  He tried to focus his senses… It was coming from his back.  A point of pressure on his back.  It was moving… shaking him?  He heard a muffled sound from somewhere in the distance… cloudy and obscure.  _Focus_, he told himself.  The sound appeared to be closer and louder. It became more distinct.  …A voice?

"—ape!  Pwessa Sape!  Professor Snape!  Please!"

His eyes creaked open at the recognition of his name.  He was on living room floor.  Someone was kneeling beside him.  They were shaking him.  His voice (his?)… he recognized it, but he could not place it right away.

"Professor Snape, please wake up!"

"P… Potter…?"

"Yessir."

He managed to roll up onto his left arm. "What--?  What are you doing here?!" He demanded, his pride giving strength to his voice.  A student in his apartment!  A Gryffindor finding him in such a weakened manner!

"I—I overheard Professor Dumbledore saying your password yesterday… and I had a dream about… well, I knew you were in trouble," he rambled in one quick breath.  Somehow Snape understood what he'd said.

"Get out!" he hissed.

"But--"

"OUT!  NOW!"

Harry scampered to his feet and disappeared from Snape's narrow line of vision.  He could hear the Gryffindor's footsteps run back towards the secret passageway.

He began coughing again.  However, the rush of anger (and embarrassment) had given him the strength he felt he needed to continue on his journey.  Unfortunately, his re-awakening had also brought his pain back.  He struggled in vain to pull himself into an upright position.

He started when a pair of hands reached under his arms and tried to help draw him up.

"POTTER!  I told you to leave!"

Harry ignored the man and managed to get him to his feet.  He draped his left arm over Potter's shoulder.  Despite his best efforts he found that he needed to place almost all of his weight on the boy, as he could no longer support himself.  He was mildly surprised that Harry was able to take the weight.  Though he should have reprimanded him more, Snape's little strength was now focussed on remaining conscious.

Slowly Potter helped him into his bedroom and to sit on his bed.  Without his support he was unable to remain in a seated position and so slumped onto his side.  Harry took this opportunity to lift the man's legs onto the bed.  Snape rolled onto his back, his raspy breathing continuing.  He wasn't certain but he thought he felt Harry removing his boots.

"Tell me what to do."

"Leave."

"No.  Tell me what to do."

"_Go. Away_."

Harry angrily narrowed his eyes.

"If I leave, I'm floating your body through the halls up to the Hospital wing.  Is that what you want?"

Snape glared at him.  The boy knew full well that was the _last_ thing he wanted.  Even if there were no students or faculty about at that early hour, the walls had eyes and ears… and mouths.  The speed at which gossip spread throughout the school was not surprising when you considered that the paintings had little else to do in between taking passwords.  The Boy-Who-Lived floating a helpless Potions master though the corridors would be around the castle three times before breakfast.

"Tell me what to do.  You must have _something_ prepared."

Snape closed his eyes again.

"The table, you nitwit.  What have I taught you about observation?  Do you not see a goblet sitting there?"

He waited until he heard the boy moving towards the goblet.

"It contains Calkrie Potion."

Three more steps and Harry stopped walking.

"But-- Wait-- Calkrie Potion?  But doesn't that---"

"Precisely, Mr. Potter.  I was not intending to be absent this long.  As I've said, there is nothing for you to do here. Leave."

He heard Potter stuttering around in his steps for a moment.  He felt a blanket being draped over him before hearing the boy's footsteps disappearing out of the room again.

Good, he thought bitterly.  Let me die in peace.  Though he's probably gone to fetch that irritating Pomfrey.

Professor Dumbledore had visited him two hours before he'd been called to tell him that he would be attending the Castle Funerals and going to the Ministry.  He would be leaving on Friday night and not return to the school until noon on Saturday.  He'd wanted Severus to 'keep an eye on things' in his absence.  The Headmaster did not know that he was going to be been called, or that he'd be in such a state upon his return.

Severus closed his eyes.  Unfortunately his mind now refused to loose consciousness.  He was aware of every ache and every pain.

Every pain.

Every pain.

Someone was touching his shoulder.  It seemed as though he'd been lying there for days.  He opened his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

"Atone!"

The crack in the wall slid open and Harry stepped through.  He followed the narrow hall, taking extra care not to spill the contents of the goblet he was carrying.

He only hoped he was making the right decision.

He was sure that Professor Snape believed him fully gone.  He had left in truth.  After depositing the Professor onto his bed, he'd run to the sitting room, and after igniting the fire tossed in some Floo Powder and said, "Gryffindor Common Room!"

A dizzy second later he'd tumbled out of the familiar hearth.  Not taking the time to dust himself off, Harry stumbled up the staircase towards the Fifth Year Girls' dormitory. He carefully opened the door and crept inside.

Harry had never been in the Girls' Dormitory before, but even if Crookshanks hadn't lifted his squashed face and cast his lamp-like eyes in Harry's direction, Hermione would have been very easy to find, with her distinctly bush hair matting over her pillowcase.

Harry shook her shoulder

"Hermione," he whispered.

Hermione shifted slightly, her mouth curling up in a contented smile.  She sighed** satiably.**

"Oh, Ron…" she cooed.

Harry jumped.

_What?!?_

Harry shook his head.  He would have to ponder that later.  He shook her again.

"Hermione," he whispered, a little more loudly, then clamped his hand over her mouth, as it appeared she was about to start out of her sleep.

The young witch looked around in panic for a moment.  It was only when her eyes focussed and he knew that she recognized him, that Harry released her.

"Harry," she scolded quietly.  "What are you doing?  You're not supposed to be up here!"

"I need you to come with me right now," he said urgently.  "It's an emergency!"

"But what?--"

"I'll explain to you on the way.  Just put on a robe and meet me in the common room."

He didn't wait for her response.  He left the girls' dormitory and headed for his own.  From his trunk he pulled a dark covered book bound in dragon's hide.  Hermione was waiting for him with an irritated look on her face.  She was fastening one of her school robes over her nightgown.

"Harry what's this all about?  Is it Ron?"

"No," he replied absently.  He'd been flipping though the book by the light of the fire.  Finding what he was looking for, he turned the volume towards her.

"Can you make this potion?"

Hermione ran her eyes over the page.  "Calkrie potion?  Harry, that's very advanced magic.  We won't even be learning that in seventh year.  Why do you need--?"

"Can you make it?" he stressed.

"If--if I had the right ingredients… I think so, but--"

"Good enough for me," he said, snapping the book shut and grabbing her by the arm.  He dragged her through the portrait hole.

"Harry!" she hissed.  "Where are we going?  And where's your _invisibility_ _cloak_?"

"Snape's quarters," he said, peeking around a corner.  "Answer to both."

"Why--"

"He's dying Hermione," he said looking right at her.  "Voldemort, he-- tortured him.  I saw it when I was asleep."

"Oh, no!" she exclaimed.  They continued on their trek.  "Then hadn't we better tell someone?" she asked.  "Dumbledore or Madame Pomfrey?"

"Dumbledore's gone to the Castle funerals.  He won't be back until later today.  And Snape would fry us _both_ if we got Madame Pomfrey.  Besides, she wouldn't have this potion.  It doesn't keep more than twenty-four hours."

"But Harry," Hermione said, stopping.  They'd begun a quiet jog through the corridors.  "I'm not a Potions Master.  I'm sure I'm nowhere good enough to-"

"_Hermione_, next to Snape and possibly Dumbledore, I'd wager you're the best Potions brewer in the entire school.  You've _got_ to have more faith in yourself.  Especially now."

Hermione had chewed on her lip for a moment before giving a determined nod.

The two friends successfully made their way to the dungeons without incident.  Harry let them into Snape's private workroom.  Apprenticeship has its privileges, he thought.  He was not all together surprised to find the ingredients for the Calkrie potion already laid out.  Snape had probably expected exposure to the Cruciatus curse, and planed to make himself a batch of the strengthening and healing solution upon his return.  He couldn't have expected it to be as bad off as he was… unable to even sit upright, let alone stand over a boiling cauldron.  

Harry assisted when he could, fetching or preparing ingredients when Hermione asked.  Every now and again he would return to Snape's quarters and peek his head in to assure himself that their Professor was still breathing.  It was very low and closer to a final rattle than Harry would have liked, but Snape continued to draw breath.

After nearly ninety minutes of steady, near silent work.  Hermione carefully ladled the thick potion into a goblet Harry had found.

"He has to drink all of it," she instructed.  "Every drop, and then another dose, exactly twelve hours later."

"Aren't you coming?"  Harry asked at the door when he noticed she hadn't moved.

"I think Professor Snape will be upset enough at _one_ Gryffindor invading his privacy.  Best not to push it.  I'll just wait here." 

*~*~*~*~*

Potter was standing over him again.

"Drink this, sir," Harry said holding out a bronze coloured goblet.  "It's fresh Calkrie Potion."

"I'd sooner die," he crocked, looking suspiciously at the goblet.

"Sir..."

"Get that away from me, Mister Potter and get out!"

Harry angrily narrowed his eyes.

"I meant what I said about floating you through the halls."

"You're threatening me?!"

"Yes."

"I'm not drinking _anything_ that you've…"

"Hermione made it."

"…"

Snape's eyes flickered to the goblet.  Under most circumstances, he would never acknowledge to anyone the faith that he had in Hermione Granger's potion making, but he was not fool enough to let his pride get in the way of his life.  This was a battle he wasn't going to win.  He took some comfort in the fact that he could always get back at the boy later.  Being a Professor had its privileges.

He let out a weary sighand tried to push himself up onto his elbow.  He allowed Harry to help him with that as he was having trouble, but he refused to let him help steady the goblet as he drained it.

*~*~*~*~*

As Snape finished the last drop, Harry could immediately see an improvement in his colour.  He moved from a deathly grey pale towards his more usual scarcely – human – vampire – pale.

He handed the goblet back to Harry and leaned back closing his eyes.

"Most fully qualified wizards cannot correctly brew that potion.  The slightest mistake in any way and it is rendered useless," he said, never opening his eyes.  "Return to your dormitory Mister Potter."

"But--"

"I shall be fine.  Professor Dumbledore, will return soon and one of his first steps will be to inquire as to my status.  I will survive until then."

"Er… Hermione said that you'll need another goblet in…"

"Precisely 12 hours.  Yes, I know.  Return to your dormitory, Potter."

Harry questioned him no further and turned to leave.

"Potter," Snape stopped him at the door.  Harry turned.  The Potions master had not moved nor opened his eyes.

"Inform Miss Granger that she has earned fiftypoints for her house."

One of his dark eyes opened.  "I'll assume that Mr. Weasley has already been made aware of these events.  You would be hard pressed, not to tell him.  However, I hardly need tell you that this should go no further than that."

"Of, course not," Harry replied and then went to collect his friend.  ****

*~*~*~*~*

Ron stretched lazily, an excited tingle moving throughout his body.  He'd awakened earlythat Saturday as he always did on Quidditch mornings, whether Gryffindor was playing or not.  Looking towards his best friend's bed, he was surprised to find it empty.  He changed his clothes, headed downstairs and began to feel a rising panic.

Harry wasn't there either.

His stomach clenched as he remembered the _last_ time Harry had been absent before dawn.  Should he check the Hospital wing or go down to the Great Hall?  Should he find Hermione?  He didn't want to worry her needlessly.

His questions were rendered mootwhen the portrait hole swung open and Harry entered followed by immediately Hermione.

"_Where the bloody hell have you been_?"  Ron demanded.

"Ron!"  Hermione exclaimed, but Ron was focused on Harry.

"No note!  Bed empty!  Not in the Common Room!  No one's seen you!"

"Sorry, _Mrs. Weasley_," Harry said, his eyebrows furrowed at this curious display. He turned to Hermione.  "What's got him?"

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well, Harry…" she started quietly, "the _last_ time you were gone like that, you were… you… we found you in the Hospital wing…"

Harry turned on Ron, his eyes wide and filled with guilt.

"Ron… I'm sorry.  I--I didn't even think about that…"

Ron huffed, his arms crossed.  "Are you all right?" he asked tersely.

"I'm fine, Ron.  I promise."

Ron looked around Harry.  "Hermione?"

"I'm fine too, Ron.  I swear," she said quickly.

Ron gave them both a searching look before finally relaxing his form.

"All right then," he said.  "So where were you?"

The two proceeded to inform him of the night's events.  Harry told them that he'd had a dream about Snape and Voldemort and knew that he had to help him.  If he hadn't known how to get into Snape's quarters, the Professor probably would have died right there on his floor.

"Madame Pomfrey couldn't have any of the potion on hand.  It's no good after twenty-four hours.  And Professor Snape told me that _he_ makes all the medical potions for the school, so she probably couldn't have done it anyway.  It's a lucky thingI ran into Professor Dumbledore the other day."

"Why, Harry?"

"I was on my way to the Great Hall.  I ran into him and he asked me to walk with him.  He asked me how I was doing and such.  I asked him where we were going and he said that he needed to speak with Professor Snape about something.  But we were in a part of the dungeons I'd never seen before.  He finally stopped at this wall, said a password to open it and said goodbye to me.  I heard him greet Snape as the wall was closing up again."

"Lucky thing," Hermione said.  Ron didn't comment.  He was looking at his watch and couldn't help a small smirk on his face.

"What's that?" Harry asked him.

Ron snapped the watch closed and looked up, his face reddening.

"Uh—Er…"

Ron had yet to tell his two friends about Dumbledore's revelation about his ability.  He was by no means forbidden to talk about it.  It was simply that he was still somewhat shell-shocked about the whole thing.  And the fact that he'd only made one prediction thus far, and it hadn't had the time to come to pass yet… well, he wanted to be certain first.

"Ron!"

Hermione grabbed the timepiece out of his hand.  She flipped it open.  "This is an Arithmancer's Watch!  Where did you get this?"

"It's a what?"

"An Arithmancer's Watch, Harry," Hermione said looking at the piece with reverence.  "We learned about them in class.  They're used by Natural Arithmancers mostly.  People who don't need to use numbers or runes to do Arithmantic predictions.  They just are able to see it in front of their eyes.  It's a rare and wonderful gift.  And these watches are evenrarer.  No one even knows how to make them anymore.  They're usually passed down from one Natural to another, but if there's no one to pass it to, the Ministry holds onto it until another Arithmancer is found."  She looked up at Ron.  "Where did _you_ get this Ron?  Why do you have it?"

"Well… er…" he started, "Dumbledore gave it to me.  It was his father's.  _He_ was a Natural Arithmancer and… well… so am I."

"..."

"..."

"You're what?!?" Harry and Hermione exclaimed in unison.

Ron grinned and began to tell what had happened in the Headmaster's office.

"Ron, that's amazing," Harry said once he'd finished.  "So does the watch tell you everything, like… I don't know…"

"Answers to a test?"

"Ron!"

"Don't worry Hermione," Ron said with a grin, "It doesn't work that way.  It's more… the watch tells me what I need to know.  Dumbledore said that eventually I'll be able to control what it shows me, just by thinking a question, but I won't reach that level for years."

"Why didn't you tell us before?"  Hermione asked.

"Well I wasn't sure about it yet," Ron said.  "I mean, I'd made only one reading and nothing had… happened yet."

"But it has now… sort of."  Harry commented.  "I needed to know how to get into Snape's quarters.  Don't know about the other part, but _that_ was right."

"Yeah, I suppose so."  Ron replied, a goofy sort of grin on his face.  "Not bad for a first go then?"

Both Harry and Hermione wanted to examine the piece in closer detail, which Ron happily let them do.  However, he noticed that while Harry seemed rather impressed by this new revelation, Hermione's face held a look that Ron couldn't quite decipher.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The trio went down for breakfast not long afterwards.  Most of the school were carrying yellow and black drapings in support of the Hufflepuffs.  The Hufflepuff table was almost completely silent; their faces set with grim determination.  The Slytherin table, despite the continued absence of their Head of House, was nonchalant.  The Hufflepuffs had never even come close to defeating them in all of Hogwarts' History.  They weren't worried in the slightest.

Their mistake.

Two hours later, the Hufflepuffs took the pitch like a team possessed.

It was not usual for inter-house teams to have anything other than their house crests adorning their robes, but today, magically emblazoned across their backs were the words: FOR CEDRIC.

They appeared to be holding the Slytherin team personally responsible for the loss of their previous seeker and team captain. ****

They certainly played that way.

They were fierce.  Determined.  Aggressive.  Everything _not_ associated with Hufflepuff house, save for foul play.

Draco Malfoy didn't seem to know _what_ to do as the Badger's new seeker, Martin Hyde, flew circles around him… literally, obscuring any clear view Draco might have of the snitch, while keeping his own eyes clear.

For the Slytherins, it was messy.  For everyone else, it was beautiful.

At Madame Hooch's whistle, Lee Jordan's voice rang out:  "HUFFLEPUFF'S WIN!  HUFFLEPUFFS WIN!! 21O to 30!!!  TAKE THAT YOU LOUSEY, STINKING--"

The Hufflepuff team gathered in the centre of the pitch in a group hug.  Elation and tears danced across their various faces as their broomsticks slowly descended to the ground.

For the first time in Hogwarts' history, Hufflepuff had decimated Slytherin house at Quidditch.

To most present, it was a _very_ fitting tribute indeed.

*~*~*~*~*

Three days later, the match was still a big topic of conversation among the student body.

"So I guess we really have to start taking the Hufflepuff team more seriously now," Ron said.

"Good thing Oliver's not still here," Harry smiled.  "To hear you haven't been taking them seriously before now?  He'd have you flying laps from three in the morning."

Ron snorted and closed his Charms book.  He furrowed his brow slightly.

"Hermione, what are you working on?"

The bookish Gryffindor was near buried beneath a pile of large tomes.  They hadn't seen her with that many books at once since third year when she was attempting to take all the third year courses at once _and_ form a defence for Buckbeak the hippogriff.

"Homework,' she said, rather curtly, without looking up from her notes.

Ron tilted his head to look at some of the titles: ****

**When Worlds Collide: Advanced Arithmancy for the Professional Minded**by Alwhite McDolby__

**Any Number, Pick One: Arithmancy Made Easy**by Kelly Digitus__

**Arithmancy for Dummies**by Dixon Dale__

"Hermione, some of these are 7th year books."

"So."

"Are you doing a special project or something?"

"I _told_ you. I'm doing my homework."

"Need any help?"  Ron asked with a grin.

Hermione's head finally looked up, though only long enough to throw Ron a venomously sour look.

Ron looked a little surprised.  He reached into his robes and withdrew the Arithmancer's watch.

"This tells me I should be _very_ careful about what I say for the next few minutes."

"Well, at least it does _something_ right," Hermione muttered, going back to her work.

"Does it really?" Harry asked Ron, choosing not to comment on what Hermione had said.

Ron grinned again.  "No.  At least I don't think it does.  I can't see things about my own life too well, unless they intersect with something or someone else --too much emotion -- which is really weird because everything we do is a lead to som--"

"Ron!  Supercalafragilisticexpialidocious!" Harry blurted.

Ron blinked.  Hermione snorted.

"What?"

"Exactly.  I have no idea what _you_ just said.  Now we're even."

"At least what I said used real words.  What he devil did you just say?"

"It's a real word," Harry said, pushing up his glasses.  "It's in a Muggle film.  It's about this magical nanny."

"She's a witch?" Ron asked.

"No, she--"

"Yes."

Harry looked at Hermione.  "What?"

"Yes, she's a witch."

"Hermione, what are you talking about.  I was telling Ron about Mary Poppins, that fictional--"

"She's not fictional Harry.  She's a real witch.  She even went to Hogwarts for her final two years.  A Hufflepuff.  
  


"But if she's in a Muggle film…" Ron began.

Hermione shook her head.  "Honestly, you two."  They both knew that that was her indication she was still exasperated that neither of them had taken the time to commit _Hogwarts: A History_ to memory.  She folded her hands neatly on her books and spoke as though explaining something to a very small child.

"Michael Daley wrote the story the Muggles know.  He was the little boy Poppins looked after.  The name Banks was made up for the cinema.  He was only a child when Poppins cared for him and his older sister, so it's understandable that when he wrote the tale as an adult, some of the facts would have been askew.  Anyway, Poppins went to the Ravenwood Academy for Witches for her first five years of school, then transferred to Hogwarts for her sixth and seventh years."

"The Ravenwood Academy for Witches?"

Hermione nodded.  "In Oxford.  Some parents would rather their daughters educated away from boys.  The school's not very big.  Only one hundredstudents or so." ****

Harry shook his head.  "The numberof 'little things' in the wizarding world that I still don't know about…"

He sighed and looked down at his Potions essay.

"How's Professor Snape?"  Hermione added.

"We just had him, Hermione," Ron said.  "He's the same miserable git he's always been."

"I doubt he would let the class see any form of weakness or injury, Ron.  He has too much pride for that.  But Harry might know something from… you know…"

Snape had indeed returned to the classroom that morning, just as scathing and cruel as ever.  You'd never know that just a few days earlier, he'd been lying on his deathbed.  Forty of Hermione's earned points were lost when Neville melted his fourth cauldron of his Hogwarts career.  Harry had gone for a training session (theory mostly) the night before.

"He's fine," Harry said.  "Well… at least he's not letting on anything to me."

Hermione harrumphed.  "Maybe we could have helped him sooner if Ron's new _toy_ had been working properly."

"What are you talking about?"

"That… thing of yours," she said waving a disagreeing hand at the Arithmancer's Watch resting on Ron's book.  "It said Harry would die if he couldn't get into Professor Snape's quarters.  But it was _Snape_ who would have died."

"You don't know that, Hermione," Ron said defensively.  "A bolt of lightening could have struck Harry in bed if he'd not gone to see Snape.  Or something else.  What are you on about lately anyway?  You've been acting funny since weekend."

Hermione jumped to her feet.  She slammed her book shut, pushed it and the others into her bag and stormed up the steps towards her dormitory.

"What's she on about?"

"Dunno," Harry replied.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" came a new voice.  Ginny had walked over to their table upon Hermione's curt departure, Fred and George trailing closely behind, Fred munching on an apple.  Ron had revealed his new talent to his siblings the day before.

"What do you know about it?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and sat down.

"Ron, you know Hermione's always trying to prove herself.  She feels because she's Muggle-born that she always has to prove she's good enough to be here.  
  


"We know that.  We think she's mad, but we know that.  She's the best student in the school.  She doesn't need to prove anything!"

"And what's her favourite subject?" Ginny continued.

"Arithman--oh…

"…Damn."

"So, she's upset that Ron can do her favourite subject naturally when she has to work so hard at it," Harry stated.

"Right," Ginny said.

"So she's doing all that extra work for what?  So she'll be even with me?  That's ridiculous!  I'm not even _taking_ Arithmancy.  I'm not getting grades for this!  It's just something that I can do!  And I'm not that good at it yet either!

"Blimey.  I _finally_ have something that stops me from being a useless git.  You'd think she'd be _happy_ for me!"

"What do you mean 'useless git'," Ginny asked.

Ron rolled his eyes and began counting off on his fingers.

"Bill's the popular one, first born and a Head-boy.  Charlie was the Quidditch star--a legend.  Percy's the smart one and works at the Ministry-- Mum's perfect example of everything.  You two are the jokester – this school will be remembering you for centuries.  Ginny's 'the Girl' and the youngest.  What the hell am I?"

The group stared at the ruffled Weasley for a moment, blinking in disbelief.  Fred and George were looking at him as though he'd sprouted two extra heads.  They looked at each other, then back at Ron.

"Ron…" Fred began slowly.

"You're 'the Hero', ya git," George finished.

Ginny was nodding silently, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.  This time it was Ron who looked at his siblings as though _they'd_ sprouted extra parts.

"What are you all on about?  _I'm_ not a hero.  _Harry's_ the hero."

"Ron," Harry interjected "don't you know that there's no way I could have done any of what I've done since coming to Hogwarts, without you and Hermione?!"

"Harry--"

"You don't see that?"  Ginny asked, incredulously.

"You've all gonebalmy!"

"Ron, none of us, Bill and Charlie included have done half the things that you've done."  George pressed.  "You helped Harry get to the Philosopher's Stone and stop You-Kn—Voldemort in your first year."

"You helped save _me_ in your second year," Ginny said.

"I got trapped behind the rocks with Lockhart!"

"You went, Ron.  And as happy as I was to wake up in that Chamber and see Harry there, I was ecstatic to see your face peaking through the hole in the rocks.

"It's like talking to a Flobberworm," Fred said to Harry.  He turned to Ron.  "_You're_ the special one, Ron.  _You're_ the hero.  If anything, _we_ should all be jealous of _you_!"

"When Mumwants to send the four of us a letter or care package, who does she direct it to?"  George asked.

"At King's Cross, who does Dadtell to look out for the rest of us?" Fred said.

"We're two years older!  They never say anything like that to us!"

"That's because they know you're a protector," Harry added.

"You're a hero," Ginny repeated.

By this point, Ron's face was actually brighter than his hair.  His mouth was snapping open and shut like a codfish on a boat deck.

George put a hand to Ron's forehead.  "Merlin," we actually managed to shut him up without using a silencing spell!"

"_Gerroff_!"  Ron exclaimed, batting his brother's hand away, as he'd started ruffling Ron's hair.

"So what do I do about Hermione, then?" he asked, wanting to change the subject.

"She'll come around eventually," Harry said.  "She's just got to get used to this first.

"I hops so," Ron said glumly.

*~*~*~*~*

Harry sat staring, his brow furrowed in concentration.  Before him, on the desk sat a marble; cracks and stress lines flowing throughout.  His task was to heal the fractures - more difficult than he would have expected.  His previous sessions with the Potions Master had all been focussed on _big_ things.  Wordless defence, throwing hexes and curses.  Things that could be used in a battle against Voldemort.  When this exercise was first presented to him, he'd failed to see how it could have been of any help and it became increasingly frustrating that he could barely supposedly simple thing.

"Detail, Mr. Potter is just important as power," Snape said from the other side of the desk, as though reading his mind.  "The magical abilities of Misters Crabbe and Goyle are a prime example of what lack of focus can do – or not do as it were.  You are quickly becoming… proficient in your wandless abilities, however you need to learn precise control, or the power will get away from you."

Harry nodded mutely and focused back on the sphere.  Slowly, achingly slowly (and only one at a time), the cracks began to heal themselves.  It was not perfect.  The impressions of where the cracks had been were still visible, but he _was_ making progress.

"Enough," Snape said, after a time.  Harry sat back, panting.  He ran a hand across his forehead and found it wet with perspiration.Snape tossed him a handkerchief.  "For your first attempt, that wasn't… a _compete_ failure."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said, wryly.  He now knew that this was Snape's way of complementing him… er… sort of…

"You may return to your Common Room, Potter.   You and the others will be expected to attend a meeting of the Order tomorrow at midnight.  _Do not_ be late."

"No, sir."

Harry stood up but did not leave.

"Is there something else, Potter?"

Harry squirmed.  Should he bring it up?

Snape signed.  "Out with it Potter.  What's on that tiny mind of yours?"

"Er… Well…" Harry fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve.  "It's just… after what happened to you…"

Snape's face darkened and Harry knew he had better hurry up.

"Doyouthingkit'ssafeforyoutokeepspyingonVoldemort?"

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"I mean… what if he's suspicious?  What if he finds out?"

With the way the Professor was now looking at him, Harry began to think he probably should have just gone up to Gryffindor Tower and kept his mouth shut.  As such, he was rather surprised when the Potions master gave a weary snort and leaned back in his chair.

"Do you honestly think that Lord Voldemort _does not_ know where my _true_ loyalties lie?  Do you really think him _that_ blind?"

Harry's eyes widened.

"You--you mean, he _knows_ you're a spy?!"

"Of course he knows, you twit.  He's known since I first defected.  What's more, he knows that I am aware of his realization.  Not that he has ever openly said it."

"But--But--"

"Oh, do spit it out, Potter.  The hour is late!"

Harry could not believe what the elder wizard was saying, "But why then?  Why do you keep going?  Why hasn't Voldemort killed you?  Why does Dumbledore still _allow_ you to go?!"

"It's all part of the game Potter.  Voldemort is fond of games.  The information I gain at the meetings may be true, or it may be false, or only partially true.  This is his way of challenging me, and through me, Dumbledore.  He fancies himself the mental superior to every wizard alive.  In his eyes, I am no real threat.  I don't have brains enough to piece together his little truths and misinformation.  Recently, I was a little _too_ accurate in my guessing.  The result of which, you unfortunately witnessed weekend last.  ****

"And Voldemort _will_ kill me, Potter.  Of that I have little doubt.  He's simply not done _playing_ with me yet.  He will kill me when he's good and ready.

"As for Dumbledore, the last I checked I was still an adult wizard.  I go where I will.  This is my job.  I will see it through.

"Now, if you're done tearing pages from the sordid book of my life, I have marking to do."

Harry swallowed and gave a brief nod before leaving the room, still quite stunned.  ****

*~*~*~*~*

"You know, I think I'm actually getting the hang of it," Ron said, "saying his name I mean."

"Saying _who's_ name?" Harry asked with a smirk.  He was promptly hit with a pillow.

Harry was pleased that his friend mostly no longer feared saying the name 'Voldemort'.  He'd even stopped flinching (mostly) when he heard others say it.

During the very first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore stated in no uncertain terms that he would no longer tolerate anyone within their group referring to Voldemort as _He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named_, or _You-Know-Who_.  This was a twenty-four hour a day, seven day a week standing order and he wanted them to encourage the change in others.  "Fear is Voldemort's strongest ally," he'd said.  "We need to take as much power away from him as possible. There is no benefit to our cause in giving Voldemort even more power by continuing to fear the sound of his name."

"Oi, we'd better get on then," Ron continued.  "Breakfast will be gone by the time we get there.  Why didn't those gits wake us up?"

"Maybe they tried," Harry said.  "We were both up so late with training."

The two Gryffindors headed out the door and down the steps to the Common Room.  At the bottom they were greeted by a very grim-faced Hermione…

…who was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hand.

"Her--Hermione?  What is it?  What's wrong?"  Harry asked nervously.

Hermione held out the paper to him.

"I think we'd better take breakfast elsewhere today," she said.

Harry felt his stomach clench as he looked down at the Headline.

Boy-Who-Lived… Abused?

By *Drusilla Dax 

Special Correspondent

Has Harry Potter, the boy whom we all love so, been subject to abuse by those assigned to look after him?

Sources inside the Ministry of Magic - who wish to remain anonymous, though their word cannot be questioned - have brought some extremely disturbing facts to this reporter's attention.

Details are scarce as those involved are remaining stubbornly tight lipped, however, this reporter has been able to obtain certain undeniable facts, which even the likes of Albus Dumbledore could not keep secret. And we at the Daily Prophet believe our readers had a right to know what is going on in our community, especially in light of so many strange events of late, not the least of which is the common appearance of a certain 'Mark' in the sky.

What we have been able to ascertain for sure is that the Muggle relatives whom had been given custody of Potter since the night of his parents' deaths, are being detained at the Ministry for Law Enforcement in London awaiting trial. They are charged with abuse of a minor wizard. One can only logically assume that said minor was our very own Boy-Who-Lived.

The sanity of the Boy-Who-Lived has been brought to question in previous issues of our publication. Now, perhaps we have the cause.  Perhaps we should consider whether or not his supposed mental disruptions were a side effect of the treatment he received at the hands of his own family. 

We can only wonder what the exact nature of this abuse was as we have been unable to reach Mr. Potter for his side of things. It seems that Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has taken it upon himself to prevent all external sources from contacting the boy, including the Minister for Magic himself, Cornelius Fudge.

At first, one might think Albus Dumbledore was merely taking precautions for Harry's own protection.  But perhaps the Headmaster is not as altruistic as we might believe him to be.  Sources have informed me that it was Dumbledore himself who not only arranged, but hand-delivered Potter into his Muggle relative's clutches, despite the fact that any number of our kind would have been only too honoured to take him in.

The Daily Prophet has also learned that Dumbledore has gotten his hands on a rare Argumentum Stone, and that he attempted to do so in secret, without registering it with the Ministry.  This precious gem hasn't been used in Wizarding court for nearly fourteen years.  The Argumentum Stone acts as sort of 'reverse Pensive', projecting a recorded memory into the open, rather than bringing the viewer into the souvenir. The main drawback of these stones is that the memory can only be viewed twice.  First, when it is recorded and second, during its playback. It is used when witness are unable to testify verbally either due to curse or extreme trauma. 

Of course, there is no evidence linkingthese two events happening at Hogwarts, but it is a rather large coincidence.

If, as we suspect, the Argumentum Stone is to be used in the trial of Harry Potter's Muggle relatives, we can only wonder what horrors The-Boy-Who-Lived has suffered.  Horrors so vast that he is unable to recall or to speak them without magical assistance.  We are left to our own speculation.

And apparently we are not the only ones.

Minister Fudge's office has informed us that the Minister had only found out about both of these events until just _two days ago_.

One must question why Mr. Albus Dumbledore would keep Minister Fudge out of the loop of such an important situation.  What could Dumbledore be planning?  How does young Harry fit into all of this?

This reporter will not rest until I have the answers that we as a community deserve.

*~*~*~*~*

Ten minutes past midnight found Harry sitting quietly in his seat at the front of the Order's chamber.  Ron and Hermione kept throwing him anxious glances.

The Boy-Who-Lived hadn't spoken a word since reading the article.  Indeed he had been in a misty sort of haze for several minutes afterwards.

His friends had decided that mingling with the rest of the student population at that time was not in Harry's best interest.  Instead, they had gathered some things to amuse themselves, a deck of Exploding Snap, Ron's Chess set and a few books for Hermione's sake, and led their friend out of the school to Hagrid's hut.

Earlier on in the school year, they had been sent a letter from the half-giant, telling them that they could use his cabin any time they wanted to if they needed to 'just get away', as long as they were back before curfew.    Dumbledore had set up the wards (as Hagrid could not do magic) and he had requested that the three of them be given full access.  This was the first time the trio had taken advantage of the refuge.

Dobby showed up not long after their arrival with a full and hearty breakfast for them to enjoy.  They suspected that the Headmaster probably knew they were down there and had sent the excitable House-Elf to tend to their needs.  Dobby would not leave until they promised that they would call him should they need anything, no matter how small.

The three spent the entire day hole up in Hagrid's cabin.  Harry seemed to be humouring his friends by playing chess and such with them.  Through it all, he never spoke and maintained a look of distance in his eyes.

They headed back to the castle, just before curfew.  Harry marched through the crowded Common Room, up to his dorm and hid himself behind the drawn curtains of his four-poster bed.

At eleven thirty, Ron and Hermione, having spent the better part of two hours fending off questions from their housemates, started feeling uneasy again.  They weren't sure whether or not their friend would remember or even care that there was a meeting that night.

At a quarter to twelve, after the last of the _non_-Order Gryffindors had made their way upstairs, Harry silently came down and joined the Weasley's, Neville and Hermione.  The group made their way to the forbidden corridor on the third floor.

Ten minutes into the meeting and Harry still had that separated look about him.

"—And I am pleased to inform you that in the past three weeks, seventeen Death Eaters, three of them from Voldemort's inner circle, have been arrested and will be put on trial.

"They were caught red handed as it were at the scene of their crimes.  Damian Nott was captured just last night.  It would have been rather… difficult to miss him thanks primarily to the efforts of our own Sirius Black and Messers Fred and George Weasley."

A slight, yet happy murmur passed through the Order.  Sirius was smirking.  Fred and George looked ready to _pop_ from barely contained excitement.  They were actually bobbing up and down in their seats.

"For security reasons, I had asked the three to keep their development secret, at least until it could be more firmly established," Dumbledore continued.  "But now that they have had such success, I think it only proper that you are now all privy to their invention.  Sirius…"

Sirius leaned back in his seat and waved a hand.

"Oh, no Albus.  This was the twins' doing.  I merely assisted in the method."

"I'm certain you are being too modest, but if you insist.  Fred… George…"

The Weasley twins practically sprang from their seats.  They turned and faced the Order, excitement and devilish pleasure playing across their identical faces.  As with the times they were up to the most mischief, the two began talking rather quickly, finishing each other's sentences.  Two bodies with one voice.

"Mr. Black really came up with the foundation--"

"question, because he said that one of the main problems was when the--"

"Death Eaters did something foul, it was next to--"

"impossible to pin anything on them because they often used--"

"throw-away wands and left the scene of the crime before--"

"any officials showed up.  So we needed a way to--"

"stick their crimes to them and then, if possible,"

"force them to remain where the crimes were committed."

Here the boys took one simultaneous breath, as though they'd been breathing from one set of lungs.  The members of the Order had just enough time to let their rapid words sink in before they were off again.  This time it was Fred who began.

"Well, following suspected Death Eaters around was definitely out of the question."

"And even if we did, it would've been our word against theirs."

"So we decided to mark them."

"Tag them."

"But only when they did certain illegal--"

"immoral--"

"or Unforgivable Curses."

"But how?"

"We were so stumbled by it that a few months back--"

"we actually _forgot_ the new password--"

"to get into Gryffindor Tower."

"Neville let us in."

"Then it hit us."

"Passwords!"  They said in unison.

They smiled at the group before thundering on.

"Sirius decided that a Potion would be best--"

"something to stick with them--"

"So with a little of his help--"

"and Professor Snape's--"

(Snape rolled his eyes form the back of the room.)

"and Headmaster Dumbledore's uses for Dragon's Blood numbers three and seven--"

"several explosions--"

"and two fires later--"

"we had it!"

"Passworded Potion!"

"We've leaned that Ogden's Old Firewisky, Maven's Bell Brandy and **Goldie's Liquid Curse--"

"are all _very_ popular among the Death Eater set."

"And we were also lucky to find that a certain--"

"very--"

"exquisitely--"

"lovely pub matron--"

(Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat rather loudly as George winked in Madame Rosmerta's direction.)

"is very well connected--"

"to the distributors of these fine beverages."

"Bottles throughout Britain were--"

"laced in record time--"

"and the results very soon presented themselves--"

"more effectively that we could have hoped."

"And thanks to the Dragon's Blood, the spells are--"

"permanent until the person is given the antidote, which--"

"only Professor Dumbledore has."

"Because we couldn't very well test the potions on people--"

"and because one needs to actually _cast_ the curse--"

"not merely say it, for the potions to work--."

"we didn't really know if they _would_ work--"

"till they did."

"And they did."

"And if Mr. Black will give us a hand…"

Sirius took out his wand and waved it at the space the twins had created between themselves.  A translucent figure of a man appeared there.  No one specific, but with his white-blond hair and cold pale eyes he did bare a 'remarkable' resemblance to Lucius Malfoy.

"Thanks," George said.  "We'll use this fine fellow to show you all the marker effects we've come up with so far."

"They're all legal, but 'unpleasant' when combined."

Fred pointed his wand at the tall figure.  "This is what happens when the Dark Mark is conjured."

He waved his wand and the figure doubled over holding his stomach.  Tears appeared in his tightly closed eyes.  His skin glowed a bright fluorescent yellow, dashed with bright pink polka dots.  The word 'Guilty' was scrawled on his forehead, 'Death' on his right cheek and 'Eater' on his left.  'Dark Mark' was written on his chin.

"'Morsmodre' activates a sort of Rictusempra-like tickling curse--"

"Only much stronger.  And he can't move from that spot."

Fred waved his wand again and the figure returned to his original state.  George pointed his wand.

"For the Impious Curse…"

He flicked his wand.  The figure opened his mouth and a small stream of fire shot from out.  His hair turned purple.  The same writing appeared on his face, only  'Imperius' appeared on his chin.

"The fire only comes out about ten centimetres and happens every time he opens his mouth.  The added bonus is that he won't be able to tell his victim what to do."

The image was returned to normal, and Fred showed the effects of the Cruciatus next.  The figure glowed like a lantern.  His mouth opened and his tongue fell out and stuck to his shoes.  His eyes followed suit.

For the Killing Curse, the hair tuned stock green.  The figure's face was frozen in a painful grimace.

"Petrificus Totalus combined with a Forever Itch hex – multiplied in strength." George said.  There was the equivalent writing on his face as there was also for the Cruciatus curse.

"That's all we've got," he said, setting the image back to normal.  Sirius banished it completely with his wand.

"For now…" Fred added.

A round of hearty applause rang off the chamber walls.  Comments like, "Brilliant!" and "Knew all that mischief had to lead to something…" were tossed around as the boys happily took their seats.

"Yes, yes, well done boys, well done," Dumbledore said.  "You all may be interested to note that Mr. Damian Nott was captured breathing fire and Mr. Pemberton Avery had to have his eyes put back in.  And something else of note of which you may not have been aware, the PasswordedPotion worked so quickly, that it prevented the Unforgivables from ever actually leaving their wands.  Their victims were spared."

This brought about another round of applause.  Dumbledore continued.

"Another… er… mark for our side is that on Monday, Minister Fudge will be announcing the _possibility_ that Lord Voldemort _may_ have found a way to return.  Not much, but a step up from the blatant denial he had been spouting until this point.

There were a few nods, however, most sill seemed angry that Fudge was still dissembling.  Professor Fletcher spoke up.

'What's he doing about the Dementors then?"  he asked.

"Nothing, for the time being."

"Nothing?!  Albus, those things have to be--"

"I know Mundungus, I know," Dumbledore said raising a hand.  "But there is little we can do about it at this time."

"What _is_ Fudge doing then?"  A witch Harry didn't know, asked.

"Reminding the public to remain alert.  Increasing security at national checkpoints and at secure areas, and opening an Information Hearth, should anyone have any questions."

There was a unified groan among the Order.  Fudge's action was hardly better than his inaction.

The Headmaster continued.

"With this latest development, we all of us need to be…"

Dumbledore stopped in mid-sentence.

There was a great 'CLANG' from the back of the gathering hall.  The large, black door was being unlocked.  It swung open, bringing the Order to their feet, their wands out.  Everyone who was supposed to be there, was already present.  And the wards and passwords on the door _should_ have been near unbreakable.

From the shadows of the hall emerged a slight figure.  Her silhouette, bunned hair and cane included were all that was visible at first.  The sound of the cane and her soft footfalls echoed throughout the hall. As she stepped into the chamber light, several shoulders relaxed.

"Mrs. Figg," Dumbledore said, smiling kindly.  "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

To be continued…

Drusilla Dax is wonderful Potter writer, who pens the "Battlefields" Universe.  You can find her at  (adults only).

Goldie's Liquid Curse is featured in the UNBELIEVABLEY AMAZING epic "AFTER THE END" written by Arabella and Zsenya.  It can be found at The Sugar Quill.

A/N:  I would like to take this time to thank all my reviewers.  I recently realized that I haven't done that yet.  Shame on me.  I love each and every one of your reviews.  I even copy them and save them on my hard drive.  Whenever I need some inspiration to get writing, I go back and read your reviews.  So the more the merrier.  Some people have stated concerns that their reviews are too long.  Not possible as far as I'm concerned.  So keep 'em coming.

I now have a scene-by-scene outline for the rest of this story and many of those scenes are already written.  (They'll have to be re-written, but hey, it's a start.)  Anyway, this will help me move it along much quicker.  Chapter Seven is about ¾ done.  I've recently altered something in it so it might be holding at ¾ for a bit.  But it shouldn't take me as long as the last time.  There will be a total of fourteen chapters in this story.  So you can start counting down.

I had hoped to post Chapters 6 and 7 at the same time, but I've added something important to Chapter 7 which needs more working on.  Didn't think I should keep you waiting for this one, just so that I could do a double post.  I hope you enjoyed!

Review please!  Fuel me!


	7. Mrs Figg

Re-posted: Sorry about the confusing scene changes. I did have 'stars' separating scene changes and changes in point of view, but they did not translate when I tried to post them here. Leaving extra space didn't work either. I've now re-posted the chapter with "oo000oo000oo000oo" at the breaks. I hope that it works and is easier to read!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

**Harry Potter and the Spirits Within**

**by Maven Cree**

**Chapter Seven: Mrs. Figg**

"With this latest development, we all of us need to be…"

Dumbledore stopped in mid-sentence.

There was a 'CLANG' from the back of the gathering hall. The black door was being unlocked. It swung open, bringing the Order to their feet, their wands out. Everyone who was supposed to be there was already there. And the wards and passwords on the door should have been unbreakable.

From the shadows of the hall emerged an aged figure. Her silhouette, bunned hair and cane included were all that was visible at first. The sound of the cane and her soft footfalls echoed throughout the hall. As she stepped into the chamber light, several shoulders relaxed.

"Mrs. Figg," Dumbledore said, kindly smiling. "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Forget the pleasure, Albus. How did she get past our wards?!"

"Oh, drop your wand, Mundungus, you anxious boob. I knew those passes before you even came up with them."

Mundungus sputtered a moment before lowering his wand. The remaining wizards followed. Mrs. Figg nodded satisfactorily.

"Now, that that bit of unpleasantness is out of the way, I can answer your question, Albus," she said curtly. "Quite simply, as always, I am here, because I need to be."

And with that, she took a seat near the back of the room.

"And as always, you are welcome to our circle," Dumbledore said, then continued with the meeting.

Harry paid little attention to the headmaster's words. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end and his stomach felt as though it were full of lead. She was watching him. He knew it. But he refused to turn around and face her.

Before he knew it, the meeting was over and the Order began filing out. Ron placed a hand on Harry's shoulder when he didn't stand. He told Ron and the others to go on without him. He needed to think.

He sat still for several minutes, his fine hairs still standing.

The empty quiet of the hall was interrupted by a hollow patterned shuffle.

'Pad-Clink', 'Pad'. 'Pad-Clink', 'Pad.' Pad-CLINK'…

He didn't look at her as the elderly witch used her metal cane to lower herself into the seat next to him.

Several more minutes passed.

Harry sighed heavily and looked down at his hands.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Tell you what, child?"

"About being a wizard."

"I'm a witch. What do I know of being a wizard?"

"This is just a game to you, isn't it?! Like everyone else, my life is just one big chess board!"

Mrs. Figg narrowed her steel coloured eyes at him. Harry had to fight not to flinch under their gaze.

"Play, or be played Mr. Potter. You're old enough to make the decision for yourself now."

Harry continued to stare at her for a moment before whipping his head away and angrily crossing his arms.

"Why are you here anyway?" he asked bitterly.

"Why are _you_?"

"What?"

"Why are you here, Harry?" She caught his gaze again and held it. This time, Harry didn't feel that he could turn away.

"_I'm_ here because _I'm_ a member of the Order. _You're_ not."

"Why are you a member?"

"Because I was asked to be."

"Why?"

"Because I have to stop Voldemort!"

"Why?"

"What do _you_ mean '_why_'?! He's evil!"

"Why do _you_ have to stop him?"

"Because… Because… I'm supposed to?"

"Why?"

"Is that the only question you know?"

"Why are _you_ supposed to stop him?"

"I don't know! I just am! I… I know it…" he added quietly.

"Why?"

"I'm leaving."

Harry made to stand up, but a bony and surprisingly strong hand forced him back down into his seat.

"You knew about the Dursleys, didn't you!" he accused. And for the first time since her appearance, this seemed to put a chink in Mrs. Figg's armour. She sighed sadly.

"The sight is both gift and curse. In some cases I am permitted to intervene. In others…" she looked away.

"Why didn't you stop the Dursleys?!"

"Why didn't _you_?"

"…"

"So it was my fault," he asked, venomously.

"Of course not, foolish boy."

"Then what did you--"

"You cannot control the will or actions of others. Only those of yourself."

She leaned in.

"Play or be played Mr Potter."

"What does that mean? What do you want from me?"

"To play a game, you must understand the rules. You must know the pieces and the way that they work."

"…"

"Who are you?"

"What?"

"Who are you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Harry Potter."

"And why does the Dark lord want you dead, Harry Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Pride? He missed me three times already. Four if you count his diary."

Mrs. Figg shook her head. "Why did he try in the first place? Why did he kill your father?"

"He killed my mother _too_."

"She was in the way. She was not his target. Why did he want you and your father dead?"

"I. Don't. Know! I already asked Professor Dumbledore that. He said he couldn't tell me. Not yet."

"Albus has already told you all that you need to know. You should be able to figure it out yourself now."

"He says a lot of things. Most of them in code. It isn't helping."

"Who are you playing against, Harry?"

"Voldemort."

"And who is Voldemort?"

"Tom Riddle."

"And who is Tom Riddle?"

"What?"

"Even better. _What_ is Tom Riddle?"

"…"

"Know your enemy."

"He's the most powerful dark wizard since Grin—"

"Not what he became, what his is? What and who would he still be had he been put in a body bind since birth and never become the evil thing that he is today? Think, boy!"

"…He's… He's the heir… the last heir of Salazar Slytherin."

She leaned in very close then, their noses a hair's breath away from each other.

"And why," she doled, "would the last heir of Salazar Slytherin want you dead?"

"…"

Mrs. Figg sat up straight. "I should like to visit with my daughter now. Good night to you, young Harry."

She rose to her feet and 'pad-clinked' her way out of the chamber, leaving Harry feeling like he'd just had a bad dose of Veritaserum.

oo000oo000oo000oo

He bolted upright in his bed. The images of his dream still brilliant in his mind.

The dream… it couldn't be right… It couldn't…

Harry threw his covers back and put on a school robe and a pair of sneakers.

A few minutes later, he found himself in front of the gargoyle that led to the headmaster's office.

"Cherry Straws."

The gargoyle jumped aside and Harry ran up the moving stairs. He knocked on the office door.

"Come in Harry."

Professor Dumbledore sat wrapped in his night-robe and cap. He had the air of sleep about him, but seemed alert. Harry realized how heavily he was breathing. He had been thinking of how to word what he had to say. He had a feeling that if he just came out and asked what he wanted to, he wouldn't get anywhere.

"I need to ask you something," he said immediately.

"I shall do my best to answer it if I can."

Harry thought for a moment, his eyes wondering the dimly lit office. They came to rest on a long silver sword encrusted with egg-sized rubies, which was mounted above a shelf. Harry walked over to it and picked up, memories of the giant Basilisk washing over him.

**_"Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry."_**

He remembered those words that Dumbledore had spoken in his second year. It was those words which had drawn him from his sleep this night.

"Professor… when you were a student here… you were in Gryffindor house, weren't you?"

"I was."

Harry nodded and turned to face the professor. He held the sword at blade length. It was now or never.

"If you had been in my situation… facing the Basilisk and all… Could _you_ have pulled this from the Sorting Hat?"

"…"

There was a silence, interrupted only by the low crackling of the fire in the hearth. Dumbledore sat very still with his fingers steepled, watching Harry over his half-moon glasses.

…Then slowly, he began to shake his head.

Harry felt like he'd been hit with a jelly-legs curse. He fell into a chair on the opposite side of the older wizard's desk.

It was several more minutes before he could speak.

"…That's… that's why my parent's died… …That's why… why Voldemort wants me dead…"

He shook his head.

"…I'm the last Gryffindor…"

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Yes Harry, you are."

Harry looked at the weapon laying on his lap. He ran the pad of his thumb along the blade, drawing a thin line of red life.

"Blood," he aired, quietly.

"I beg your pardon?"

Harry chewed his lip. "Blood. It always comes down to blood. I _hate_ my blood!"

"You don't mean that, Harry."

"THE HELL I DON'T!" he screamed. "My blood has done nothing but cause me misery my _whole life_! My parents _died_ because of my father's bloodline! I had to grow up with the Dursleys because of my blood! Vernon beat the living _hell_ out of me because of my blood! MY. BLOOD. BROUGHT. VOLDEMORT. BACK!!!"

Part of Harry's mind was _appalled_ that he was speaking to the Headmaster in such a fashion. Another part was feeling relief at finally voicing some of the frustration he felt at Dumbledore's cryptic ways.

After a moment, where Harry's words rang heavily off the walls, Professor Dumbledore sighed.

"You cannot choose your blood, Harry. But you can use it."

Harry snorted humourlessly and wearily covered his eyes with his hand.

"Play or be played."

"Pardon?"

"Something Mrs. Figg said. Play or be played."

"She is a very wise woman."

"She's an old bat."

Dumbledore chose to ignore his tone.

"I have never known Arabella to be wrong, Harry. And I have known her for a great many years. We might not always like what she has to say, but she only ever says what is needed. Take heed."

Harry dropped his head. He stood up and placed the sword back on its mount.

"Goodnight, sir. I'm sorry to have woken you," he apologized.

The headmaster waved it off. "My door is always open to you Harry. Day or night."

The Boy Who Lived nodded solemnly and departed. His mind and body tired with the weight of the world.

oo000oo000oo000oo

After nearly four-and-a-half years of living together, the fifth-year Gryffindor boys had learned a great deal about each other's body language and personal idiosyncrasies.

When Neville Longbottom chewed nervously on his top lip, it meant that he had lost his toad Trevor again. When Seamus Finnigan is mindlessly twisting his right ear with his fingers, it meant that he and Lavender Brown were fighting, but he hadn't any idea 'what he'd done wrong'. And when Harry Potter lay on his bed, fully clothed, staring narrowly at the ceiling, it meant that the first person to bother him would likely get hexed.

Only Ron was able to approach him when he was in such a state, and even then, it was with caution.

"Got you some toast and bacon, mate," Ron had said, coming back from Sunday breakfast. He placed the food on Harry's night table for which he received a barely perceivable nod. He took no offence at this. He knew his friend was working out something big, and that he would tell him when he was ready.

At least he'd hoped he would.

Part of Ron, the part that ran on pure emotion, with no rational thought whatsoever, was still smarting that Harry had not seen fit to tell him what the Dursleys were doing to him. It was the same part that wondered why Harry hadn't hexed them to the sixth dimension. The same part that wondered why he, Ron didn't go do that very thing, that very moment.

But luckily, Ronald Weasley did in fact have a rational side. (And to his surprise, it was sounding more and more like his own voice. So stowed his wicked wizard, brought his friend a bit of breakfast, and a few hours later, a bit of lunch.

"Ron," Harry said, when the youngest Weasley male was at the door. Ron turned back to his friend.

"Yeah, Harry?"

"Could you get Hermione? I need to tell the both of you something."

Ron nodded and suppressed a smile.

"Eat your chips, mate. I'll be right back."

Harry, looking at him for the first time that day, nodded and sat up. Ron let the smile show through and departed.

oo000oo000oo000oo

"So what do you think?"

Sitting across from him on Ron's bed, Ron and Hermione stared at their best friend.

"Well? _Somebody_ say something…"

"…Er…" Ron started, "Does that mean that you sort of… _own_ a fourth of the school?"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished and hit him in the arm.

"What?! I was just asking!"

"If I do, that also means Voldemort does."

"Right. Forget that then," Ron said, rubbing his arm.

"Use your blood," Hermione mused out loud. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Dunno," Harry shrugged. "I really wish people would stop talking to me in riddles! No pun intended."

"Maybe you're supposed to use your blood in an incantation or a potion," Hermione suggested.

"Maybe it has something to do with your family? Their history." Ron said.

"Great. Trouble is I don't know anything about my family's history.

Hermione 'tutted' and rolled her eyes.

"Hermione," Harry warned, "if the next words out your mouth involve the phrase 'Hogwarts-A-History', I don't' want to hear it."

"I wasn't going to," she said sharply, but her eyes flickered momentarily, as if to suggest something else.

"I'm just surprised you haven't ever taken the time to look up your family in the Wizarding Archives in the library."

"Wizarding Archives?" asked Harry.

"But they're not here. They're at the Ministry of Magic," Ron protested.

"Yes, they're at the Ministry, but there's and exact set here at Hogwarts too. You'd know that if you'd read-- er-- well, anyway… You _know_ how much ancestry means to wizards. Not all are as fanatical about it as the Malfoys, but it's still important. Too important to be housed in just one place."

"Well then? What did you find out?" Harry asked. "I'm assuming you've already read all about me."

"I started to in our first year," she admitted. "That's how I knew about your dad playing Quidditch. It was rather exciting having the living subject of a book sharing a dormitory tower with me."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Anyway… Then Halloween happened, and the troll, and… well, we became friends. And it didn't seem right for me to be reading about you behind your back as it were.

"Besides, there is a limit to how far I could look. There's a general section, but if you want to get to all the 'good stuff' you need to either be a member of that family, or get permission from Madame Pince. And you'd need a might good reason to do that."

"So what reason do _I_ give her?"

"Harry, weren't you listening? You don't _need_ a reason. They can't stop you from looking up your own history."

"Want to bet?" he muttered.

oo000oo000oo000oo

Harry had wanted to try for the library straight away. Hermione had reminded him that they were talking about nearly a thousand years of history. They would need to go in there with a plan, or they'd be searching 'till seventh year. So they'd spent the remainder of their Sunday doing homework and strategizing their research plan.

They headed for Transfiguration the next morning anxious for the day to be over. They would start in the library after last bell and work until dinner. They discussed their possible finds in hushed voices and were so focussed on themselves that they missed the fact that several others in the hallways were focusing their attention on _them_.

"So…" drawled a haughty voice, "The mighty Harry Potter, saviour of the wizarding world, can't even defend himself against a couple of pathetic Muggles."

Harry had mostly forgotten that almost no one had seen him since the article about the Dursleys was published in _The Daily Prophet_. His mind was so fixed on the revelation about his family, that he hadn't noticed the awkward looks thrown his way by the other Gryffindors over the weekend.

"Ignore him Harry," Hermione hissed.

"I'm surprised, Potter," Draco continued. "that you're still hanging around with that Mudblood. After all, it's because the likes of her," he said, thumbing after Hermione, "that you weren't allowed to defend yourself like a _proper_ wizard. Not that you'd know a proper wizard if you fell over one." He glared at Ron.

"What the hell are you on about, Malfoy?" Ron snapped.

Malfoy's pale eyebrows rose up towards his pale hairline.

"Why… The Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizards of course! It's been on the books for years, but they never really started enforcing it until, oh, what, twelve, thirteen years ago. Enforcing it because of filth like her. A Mudblood accidentally cursed her sister one summer and as her parents were only pathetic Muggles, they couldn't fix the girl. She died before any _real_ wizards could show up. Since then, the rest of us have had to suffer for Mudblood stupidity."

"You could have cursed those relatives of yours without reprimand, if it weren't for the likes of _her_ Potter."

"Shove it Malfoy," Harry seethed. "In school or out, Hermione can out-spell you any day. How does your father like it; your always coming in second to a Muggle-born. He must be _so_ pleased."

Malfoy's expression darkened.

"At least I _have_ a father," he hissed. "Yours was too stupid to know _real_ power when he saw it. I heard that _Potter_ was a respectable name once. Then your father goes and pollutes your bloodline with that Mudblood filth!"

Three large window down the hall exploded spraying the corridor with glass. Everyone except for Harry and Draco jumped. They were too locked into each other's glares to notice anything else.

"And then, to show his ultimate stupidity," Draco continued, venomously, "he stood in the way of the Dark Lord and gets himself killed for his troubles. A _dead_ hero is still a _dead_ hero."

The last words echoed throughout the corridor. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were aware of a dangerous amount of power threading its way through the air. Windows all along the long corridor began to rattle fearfully.

Harry's eyes were dangerously narrow. More narrow and threatening than anyone had ever seen them. When he spoke, it was with an icy-smooth, low and overly controlled voice that was eerily reminiscent of Snape's.

"My father," he began slowly, his voice quietly rising, "died defending those he loved. He died for light magic. He _died_ like a man, _standing_-_on_-_his_-_feet_. Even your _Dark Lord_ acknowledges that. _Your_ father, Malfoy… he crawls around on his knees and kisses the hem of the filthy robes of a rotting corpse! Is that what it takes to be a good Pureblood, Draco? Crawling around on your belly? Prostrating yourself at the feet of a monster?"

"My father lowers himself to NO ONE!" Draco yelled, his grey eyes flaring.

"_Ask him_ Malfoy," Harry said in the same calm voice. "Ask him what's the proper etiquette for greeting the Dark Lord. I was _there_ Malfoy. I saw it. I saw him crawl… I saw him shake with fear. _Your_ father and the fathers of those two apes that follow you around. It was _pathetic_."

Malfoy pulled out his wand. He was so quickly that it caused everyone (save for Harry) to jump again.

"You. Take. That. Back. Potter." Malfoy spat.

To everyone's surprise, Harry didn't reach for his own wand. Instead, the side of his enough curled up into a wicked sort of half grin.

"Ever experienced the Cruciatus curse Malfoy?

"I have.

"Twice.

"By the Dark Lord."

Harry held up two fingers. His face darkened menacingly. He stepped forward.

"You couldn't give me so much as a _nosebleed_ Malfoy."

He took another step.

"_I've duelled with Voldemort_ _himself_, and lived to tell about it."

Another step. Malfoy's wand was now pressing into Harry's chest.

"Do you _really_ _think_ _you_ can take _me_ on, Malfoy?" he hissed. His eyes, though extremely narrowed, flashed with a dangerous power. "Are you _really_ that stupid?"

Malfoy had lost what little colour there had been in his face. He was evidently trying very hard to keep his wand from shaking. His Slytherin friends were now standing far back from the two of them. The quiet and tension was so thick, it was near tangible.

"What's going on here?" came a crisp voice. Minister Fudge was walking swiftly towards them from behind the Gryffindors. Malfoy took the opportunity to pocket his wand; a false promise of continuing their 'conversation' shaded his face for a moment.

"Minister Fudge," he said brightly, "We are honoured sir. Are you in need of any assistance?"

"Er… No thank you, Mister… um…"

Draco's smug face flashed momentary annoyance before returning to its falsely humble humour.

"Malfoy, sir. Draco Malfoy," he said through tightly smiling teeth.

"Ah, yes, Mister Malfoy. Quite the resemblance to your father. Don't know how I could have missed it," the Minister said absently, while looking around at the students gathered. "Well, I suspect you should all be running along now. I'd like to have a word with young Harry here."

"Of course, Minister." Malfoy said through a gritted teeth smile. He began to back away as did the other students.

Fudge turned his attention to The Boy Who Lived.

"Oh! Er-- sir, we were just on our way to transfiguration…" Ron spoke up, grabbing one of Harry's elbows. Hermione grabbed the other one.

"Now, now, don't worry about all of that," Fudge replied, clapping a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will make his excuses. Now the rest of you should run along.

Ron and Hermione cast anxious glances at each other and then at Harry. Harry nodded to them and after a slight hesitation they followed along after the other Gryffindors. The Slytherins had already disappeared.

Fudge lead Harry down an adjacent corridor and into the first empty classroom he found.

"Well. Harry," the Minister began nervously, spinning his bowler hat in his hands. "Some interesting business in The Daily Profit this weekend…"

Harry only blinked. He neither nodded nor shook his head. Fudge's hat began to spin faster.

"Yes, well," he cleared his throat and straightened up a bit. "First things first. Is it right to assume that the minor wizard your aunt, uncle and cousin are accused of harming is you yourself?"

Harry shrugged. "You're free to assume whatever you like, Minister," he said.

"Er-- right. So you're saying that it _was_ you?"

"No."

"No?" Fudge looked surprised. "Then-- Then you're saying it was someone else?!"

"No."

Fudge blinked. "See here, now, Harry. Enough of this. What is it that you are saying?"

Harry shrugged again. "All that I said was you were free to assume whatever you like."

The Minister was still for a moment, then began to fluster incoherently.

Through his face remained an innocent mask, inwardly Harry was grinning. He had not forgotten what Sirius had said about Fudge. And though he couldn't rightly avoid the man once the wizard had caught up to him, he'd be damned if he were going to give the fool any information without his working for it.

"Harry," Fudge said, and it was obvious that he was attempting to maintain control over his temper. "Did the Dursley family abuse you in some way?"

"Yes," Harry responded, as though he'd just been asked if grass was green.

"Good. I mean… I mean, not good. --Terrible of course… --I just meant that it was good that we were finally getting somewhere."

"Oh, you mean I can leave now?"

"No! I mean, yes, I mean-- you are free to go Harry, I was just hoping that I could speak with you--"

"Well, we've done that, so I guess I'll be heading off to class now."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry acknowledged that some of Snape's verbal skills seemed to be rubbing off on him. He grudgingly admitted to himself that it did have some uses.

"Now Harry, _sit down_," Fudge said sternly. It appeared that he had had enough verbal knitting. Harry was fine with that but he'd be damned if he was going to make _anything_ easy for the man.

Harry sat down in one of the desks and neatly folded his hands in front of himself.

"Now… Harry…" Fudge began yet again in a _barely_ softer tone. "I want to talk about your aunt and uncle."

"I don't."

Fudge seemed rather surprised at the sudden blunt honesty.

"Why not?"

"If I told you then that would be talking about them, wouldn't it?"

Fudge was turning a purpley kind of red which, ironically, reminded Harry of Uncle Vernon.

He managed not to wince at this.

"Now see here---"

"Ah, Harry! There you are. Cornelius. Good morning."

Dumbledore's kind voice floated over from the doorway.

"Er… ah, Good morning… Dumbledore."

"I was not aware that you would be stopping by today. A surprise inspection perhaps?"

"I--"

"Harry, I think you should head off to class. If I understood Professor McGonagall at breakfast, the fifth years will be starting an important new unit today."

"But he--" Fudge tried.

"Run along now Harry," Dumbledore interrupted again.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied and scooted past him. His fight with Malfoy momentarily forgotten, Harry grinned and tried desperately to remember the look of the Minister's face. Ron and Hermione would want a full report.

oo000oo000oo000oo

As the door closed shut, Fudge rounded on the Headmaster.

"Dumbledore, you forget your place! I'll not have you interfering like that again. I have every right to question the boy in this matter. As Minister for Magic I--I…"

The words died in the Minister's throat as he caught sight of the Headmaster's face. He had never seen that look in Dumbledore's eye before, nor did he ever want to witness it again.

"Now _you_ see here, Cornelius," Dumbledore began in an uncharacteristically serious voice. There was a shine to his eyes, but it was by no means jovial or friendly. "You _will not_ be using this to further your own political gains. Not this time. _I_ will not allow it. Harry is balancing on a razor's edge at the moment. And he isn't even aware of it. I'll not have you toying with him in such a state.

"It is not standard practice for the Minister of Magic to become involved in under-aged abuse cases. It will remain as such this time as well. Harry is under enough stress as it is…"

Fudge blinked dumbly several times, before straightening up, his pride rising.

"Ho. So it's come to this now? Albus Dumbledore thinks himself so high that he considers himself above the Minister for Magic. That he can tell the Minister what he can and cannot do?"

Albus straightened up as well, his considerable height making his movement much more effective. To Fudge's eye, the room seemed to darken and pulse with the fringe of a magical power, he could only ever dream of possessing. Waves of it rolled off the Headmaster and Fudge found himself involuntarily taking a step back.

Dumbledore smiled, and replied in a darker side of his more familiar tone.

"In a word: Yes."

oo000oo000oo000oo

"Severus," Dumbledore greeted him. The Potions master had reported to the Headmaster's office during his free period. "Does Mister Malfoy still have all parts where they should be?"

Snape nodded curtly. "I've scheduled a talk with him. Something along the lines of: 'Is it wise to try and succeed where the Dark Lord has failed. Do you not think that if Voldemort wished Potter assassinated, he would have said so.'… Put enough fear into him so that perhaps he will think before he challenges Potter again."

"Harry's… abilities seem to be improving by leaps and bounds," the Headmaster said.

The Potions master sat down across from his employer. "Merlin's teeth Albus, call it for what it is. The boy is a cannon."

"Well, Severus…"

"Have you ever stopped to consider what it is you are creating? Potter has the potential to be… well, given time, I fear to even consider what he could possibly become. He and Tom Riddle are more alike than you would like to admit, Albus, only Potter has had his 'talents' almost from the cradle."

"Which is precisely why he needs our guidance, my dear boy," the Headmaster said. "Harry would grow more powerful with or without our aide. In time, he may have found himself a mentor, and Merlin help us if said person had dark intentions."

"No matter what we do, the boy will eventually find his own way Albus. His admiration for you may indeed find itself waning one day."

"This is very true," Albus said, pouring himself a cup of tea. Severus had already waved off an offer. "Unfortunately, because of my position, I have had to be less than forthcoming in certain aspects of Mr Potter's life. He is in fact now coming to realize this. He is taking the discovery of his lineage rather hard. His trust in me, I am painted to admit is rightfully no longer absolute. Indeed, there are still aspects of his life and history which I feel must yet be concealed from him."

Snape threw his hands up. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "So we train the potentially most powerful wizard of our time to _realize_ his potential… and he no longer trusts the leader of our cause! Dark Magic can be both seductive and comforting, Albus. When his trust in you erodes completely, where do you think he will turn?!"

"To you," Dumbledore stated, without missing a beat.

Snape stared at the Headmaster, blinking in silent disbelief.

"You're mad," he whispered. "You've truly gone round the bend, Headmaster."

"Severus," Albus began, "you are the one person in this world whom Harry can always rely upon to tell him the truth. Yes, what you perceived as truth has in the past been jaded by your relationship with his father, but still, it was the truth as you believed it to be. You do not keep things from him. You have never been impressed by Harry's fame and you challenge him. This is something he is only just now beginning to appreciate. He respects you Severus, and is starting to feel some pride in the small belief that you may respect _him_ on some level. It is something he is trying very hard to earn. He will come to you when he needs help."

Snape continued to stare at Dumbledore for a moment, before closing his eyes.

"And what do I do when this powerful little weapon of yours comes to seek my council?" he asked dryly.

Dumbledore smiled. "You do whatever it is you feel is right. That is all any of us can do, my boy."

"And you are burdening me with this massive responsibility because…?"

Dumbledore's smile grew even larger.

"Because you are the right man for the job," he said simply.

"No pressure there," Severus muttered as he wearily rubbed his eyes.

oo000oo000oo000oo

"We're still sticking to direct bloodline, right? No cousins at all?"

"No, Ron. No cousins," Hermione confirmed. Ron looked back down at his book, sighed and turned a page.

"Counts him out then. Thought I might've had something."

"What?" Harry asked. Ron turned the page back.

"Xavier Bacchus: your great, great… great cousin. One of the first very first Aurors ever. Helped to write the Procedure Code."

Harry snorted. "What procedure? Shoot first and don't bother asking questions later?"

"Harry, that attitude came along with Barty Crouch Sr. I'm sure the original Aurors were truly seeking justice."

Harry let it drop and went back to his own book. He couldn't understand how someone as smart as Hermione could be so blind to other things. Perhaps it was just blind optimism. Had she not been paying attention during their five years in Wizarding world? _Yes_, Harry was proud and happy to be a Wizard. But he recognized (perhaps because he had not grown up in it) that there were some serious problems with their society. Gossip, rumour and innuendo taken as fact. A hierarchy of institutionalized prejudice. A justice system that didn't understand the meaning of the word. These were not recent failings. They existed for centuries. And 'blind optimism' would not do anything to change it.

He signed and ran his eyes down a long list of names. The Archive had provided them with a direct family tree, starting from Godric and ending with Harry. While it did show brothers and sisters, the tree, at Hermione's insistence, focused on the specific line of blood that ran into Harry.

The tree served as an outline for their research. The trio had spent the last four evenings pouring over pouring over books about the Gryffindor line. On one hand, Harry was disappointed that they had found nothing that they believed could be of any possible use against Voldemort. It was frustrating, and he was beginning to feel resentful about being given another puzzle to solve.

On the other hand he was pleased to be learning something about his ancestry. He especially liked the photographs in more recent times. Several of the faces looked very familiar. Not simply because he could see himself in quite a few of them, but he also remembered some of them from his experience with The Mirror of Erised a few years back. He could finally put names to those faces he had never forgotten.

"Gryffindor, Gryffindor, Gryffindor… Changes to Bellator seven generations after Godric. Then Alvey. Then Duncan. Then back to Alvey…. This is pointless."

"Harry, you can't give up."

"We're not one step close to finding anything, Hermione. We don't even know what we're looking for!"

"Don't give up, Harry. There has got to be something here. We will find it," Hermione said, determinedly. To Hermione, there was nothing in the universe that couldn't be found in a book.

Harry sighed again, and continued to look at his family tree.

Bastir, Duncan, Duncan, Black… "I wonder if this Black was a relative of Siri--- Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, and Hermione was glad she had put up a privacy barrier around their table.

"I can't believe we never thought of him. He might know something!"

"Right!" Ron jumped in. "Hermione, you're the smart one. Why didn't you think of that?"

"Oh, shut up, Ron. Why didn't your watch tell you?"

"It doesn't work like--"

"Dobby!" Harry called, wanting to head off another argument. "The peculiar house elf appeared, wearing a maroon Weasley jumper, yellow pants and an orange and green sock.

"Is Harry Potter sir, wanting another book?" Dobby asked eagerly. Throughout the week, Dobby had been retrieving the books from the shelves for them and returning them. It was an extra security measure that Ron had suggested, so that there would be no record of who had removed the books. House elves were permitted to remove nearly anything around the school, in order to clean it. They'd quickly found, however that this was not a loophole to viewing the material. All the books the house elf had handed to Hermione appeared to be blank inside, until Harry touched them.

"Dobby, we have to go. Could you put all these away for us," Harry said, indicating the tomes covering their table. "I'd appreciate it."

The house elf's eyes welled with happy tears. "Dobby is only too happy to do anything for Harry Potter, sir. Dobby will put them back right away!"

And before the trio could gather their things, all the books had vanished from the table.

oo000oo000oo000oo

His godfather was pleased to them and welcomed them into his quarters. Harry wasn't surprised to see Professor Lupin seated comfortably in a chair before the hearth.

Te Marauders listened carefully to Harry's story. Their reactions however were very different. Moony seemed thoughtful as though this were something he should have thought of before. Sirius… he was angry.

"What does Dumbledore thing he's doing? 'Use your blood.' 'Play or be played.' You're _fifteen_, for Merlin's sake! You're just a kid, and it's bad enough that you have to deal with _any_ of this. _He's_ the one playing with _your_ life. Enough with these bloody riddles!"

"Language, Sirius," Lupin admonished.

"I'll talk to Dumbledore, Harry. See if I can get a more straight forward answer out of him."

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said. He wasn't pleased with being referred to as 'just a kid', but he was happy that for once, an adult seemed to be taking his view on things.

"In the mean time," Lupin said, "you've been checking your family archives. Nothing of use so far?"

"Nothing," Ron said.

"You'd have thought… well, you know… with Godric's line and all, that it would have had some more _interesting_ points. But everyone we've checked so far just seems _normal_." Harry said. "Not that I'm complaining," he added quickly. "It _is_ kind of nice knowing I had nice regular ancestors. The only reference I've ever had to family were the Dursleys."

Though no one else had been speaking, the room seemed to get much quieter. Harry looked around at the others.

"Oh, come on. Don't do this. The _last_ thing I need is for the four of you to start getting skittish."

"It's just… we haven't had a chance to talk since that article came out Harry," Sirius said.

"I don't need to talk. It's not the first time the Prophet has used me to make a knut. It won't be the last. Besides, this whole Godric's heir thing has got me more worried at the moment."

"As long as you're sure, Harry," Remus said.

"I am."

"Alright then," Sirius said and flopped down into a squishy armchair.

"Harry," Sirius began after a moment, "Have you examined your parent's vault at Gringotts?"

"Examined?"

"Taken a look around? Seen what's in there?"

"Er…" Harry cast a quick sideways glance at Ron. "All I've ever seen were… uh, coins. I usually just pick up a few and leave.

"Your vault was pretty big from what I remember. Sometimes Wizarding families will store items in there as well as money. Things they won't be needing readily, but that are important."

"It's a good idea, but I can't just knob off to London right now. Maybe someone could go for me. I'm sure if Dumbledore knew why…"

"I'd be happy to go for you Harry," Remus said. "But unfortunately the vaults at Gringotts can be a lot like the Wizarding Archives: Members only."

"But, Mrs. Weasley has taken money out for me before."

"Money in small amounts is one thing, but for larger amounts or to removes something, you must be a direct family member."

"So I guess I'm stuck until summer then," Harry conceded.

"I'll talk to Dumbledore about that too," Sirius said.

"And in the mean time, keep on with the Archives," Lupin suggested. "I'd recommend focussing more on Godric himself though. It seems that this is more about him than anything. And don't be afraid to ask us for help. Hermione?"

Hermione, who had been sitting quietly throughout the entire conversation, had an odd look on her face.

"I was just wondering," she said. "I understand, that family loyalty and all that is important. But is it enough for Voldemort to be focussing so much attention on? I understand that Gryffindor and Slytherin were rivals and that feeling can continue down through the centuries, but…"

"You have a feeling that there's something more to it?" Harry finished. Hermione nodded.

"I've been wondering the same thing," he said. "I'm the last Gryffindor. He's the last Slytherin. But what does that really mean?"

oo000oo000oo000oo

Sirius did not get any further with Dumbledore than Harry had. The Headmaster also denied Harry permission to go to London, although he felt the idea had merit. It would simply be drawing too much attention to the boy and to what he might be attempting to do. On that level, neither Harry, nor Sirius could argue, but it was still a disappointment.

And so, for the weeks following, Harry, Ron and Hermione divided most of their time between classes, homework, Order training and the library. If there were an O.W.L. for Godric Gryffindor's history, the three of them would receive top marks and then some.

Before they knew it, it was Quidditch time again. And for the first time that year, Harry would be playing. Gryffindor would play Ravenclaw on a sunny afternoon, that second Saturday of December.

The Weasley Twins' best friend, Lee Jordan was in full form, enjoying what would be his last year as Quidditch Commentator.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the second inter-house Quidditch game of the year: Ravenclaw vs. Gryffindor.

"Ravenclaw is looking strong this year with their two new chasers. Jennifer Spinnquick and Maxus Domely. We'll see if they're any match for Gryffindor's new Keeper, Ronald Weasley.

"And the Snitch is released! Ravenclaw takes possession. Dobson passes to Spinnquick. Spinnquick pa—wait—Madame Hooch is blowing her whistle! It appears that--- Yes! Ladies and Gentlemen, in what has to be a Hogwarts record, Harry Potter has captured the Snitch!!! Four seconds! Four seconds! Harry Potter is unstoppable!!!"

oo000oo000oo000oo

It was some time before the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and even most of the opposing Ravenclaw house cowed their ecstatic celebrating enough to allow Harry to make it to the change rooms. There, he was beset upon by the rest of the Gryffindor team.

"That was brilliant, mate! Absolutely brilliant! If only Oliver were here to see that!" Fred or George exclaimed, dancing around with Harry's head tucked into the crook of his arm.

"Dobson is screaming foul," Angelina Johnson said. "He's saying that you used a summoning charm on the Snitch, like you did with your broom in The First Task last year. Of course it's all rubbish. Snitches are specifically charmed against all forms of summoning. And besides, you didn't even have your wand out!" she said breathlessly."

"So how'd you do it mate?" The other twin said, dragging Harry away from his brother. "We were looking for Bludgers. Actually we didn't have _time_ to look for the Bludgers, you were so bloody fast. How'd you do it?"

Harry, being allowed to speak for the first time since entering the room, paused and thought for a moment.

"You know… I-- I don't know _what_ happened," he said, puzzled.

oo000oo000oo000oo

Harry had taken his time in the change room in the hopes that the crowd outside would have moved on. When he emerged much later, he found his wish had been granted and that only his two best friends were waiting for him on the darkening pitch.

They escorted him back to the castle offering him their own congratulations and feelings of pride, which in truth meant more to Harry than the whole school together.

The trio entered the school, made their way up the grand staircase and rounded a corner.

"Mr Potter. I've been looking for you."

The three stopped just short of knocking over old Mrs Figg.

"You mean you didn't already know exactly where I was?" Harry asked, sarcastically.

"Don't be cheeky, boy," she admonished.

"Um, Harry, we'll meet you upstairs," Hermione interjected, tugging on Ron's elbow.

"No Miss Granger, this involves Mr. Weasley too," the old witch said. She turned back to Harry, fixing him with her steel grey eyes. "Mr Potter, you will be spending the Christmas holiday at the Burrow this year."

"What?" both Harry and Ron said in unison.

Although the rest of the Weasley clan and Hermione were intending to go home for the break, Ron had decided that he would stay at Hogwarts with Harry again. Harry had guessed that with Voldemort fully returned, he wouldn't be _allowed_ away.

"Did Dumbledore--"

"Did my mum--"

Again, both Gryffindors spoke at the same time.

"I will speak to Dumbledore. He will go along with it. Mr Weasley, you will write to your mother-- tonight. In fact, as soon as you return to your dormitory. Use Mr. Potter's owl as she is faster and send the letter _tonight_."

"But--"

"Your--- friend Snuffles will be able to join you Christmas day," she anticipated.

Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a look.

"I--" Harry began. "There has to be a catch."

"Just enjoy your holiday, Mr Potter. Don't over analyze things. Often, your own instinct is the best guide. That goes for all three of you."

And with that, no doubt cryptic remark, she 'pad-clinked' away with her old cane.

"Ron, do you think your mum and dad would mind?"

"Mind? Mum's only happy when she ahs a full house to feed. It'll be brilliant!"

"Harry! Hermione said. "You could go to Gringotts over the break; investigate your parents' vault!"

"Hey, that's right. Maybe _that's_ why she wants you to go to the Burrow."

"She also said, not to over analyze things, Ron," Hermione reminded.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry headed him off.

"Well, whatever she meant," he said knowingly, "Ron you have a letter to write. Then we can stop at he Owlery before heading to the Great Hall for dinner."

Neither could argue with this plan, so they set off. Any nagging doubts or questions could be dealt with at another time.

oo000oo000oo000oo

Molly Weasley was delighted to receive her son's owl that evening, and set about making plans right away. She sat herself at the large kitchen table with quill and parchment and set about making plans. She knew full well that this would be Harry's first Christmas with a _real_ family and was determined to make it special for him.

Tip of her quill in her mouth, Mrs. Molly Weasley was so focussed on her task, she failed to notice that one of the hands on the Weasley family clock had slowly and stealthily been moving towards the 12 o'clock position, and was now pointing directly at the words: 'Mortal Peril'.

To Be Continued…

Thanks you for your lovely comments, and especially your patience.

Hope you enjoyed this. I swear on my psychotic cat, Dizzy that you will not have to wait even close to this long for the next part.

Maven


	8. Familial Findings

Disclaimer: See Chapter One. Please note, this story is continuity up until Book 4 and AU from Book 5 on.

**Harry Potter and the Spirits Within**

**by Maven Cree**

**Chapter Eight: Familial Findings**

It was, without embellishment, embroidery or exaggeration, the absolute best Christmas Harry Potter had ever had.

Molly Weasley was in full form, only too happy to have another mouth to fill with holiday sweets and pies. She was determined that Harry's first Christmas with a real family would be special.

Harry, the Weasley boys and Ginny were given a lie in on the first day. The second they were marched up early and set to work decorating the burrow in Holiday Cheer.

The twins excitedly introduced Harry to one of their _non-Order_ inventions. Marauding Mistletoe. George lamented that unfortunately, they weren't finished with the testing in time to market it for that season, but next year, from their shop, they had hopes that it would be a best seller.

They'd attempted to use unsuspecting Ginny as an example, but were disappointed when nothing happened.

"It worked fine with Angelina," Fred puzzled. "Harry, you fancy Ginny don't you?"

"Huh?" Harry exclaimed, a puzzled look on his face. Sure he cared for Ginny, but like with Hermione, it was more of a sibling type of love. Fred continued before Harry could comment further.

"And Ginny, I thought you were all sweet on our Harry here."

Ginny turned beet red, but it seemed more of indignation than of embarrassment.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I haven't liked Harry in _that_ way for almost three years! No offence Harry," she said. Harry waved it off and Ginny turned back to her brothers. "I like someone else right now, if you must know," she added with a sniff.

"Oi! Who!" Fred, George and Ron all asked without the slightest hint of humour. They stocked their youngest sibling around the house for ten minutes before Ginny suddenly pulled out her wand and threatened them all with the mother of all bat-boggie hexes.

"Too bad Hermione's not here," George said, focussing back on their invention. This time it was Ron who pulled out his wand.

"Guess we'll have to wait 'till dad comes home."

When Arthur Weasley returned home over-laid with files and folders, all of his attending brood, plus Harry, helped him to bring them in the house. He wouldn't say what they were for, and he didn't have much of a chance to at any rate. Almost as soon as all the files were stored in a small corner of the living room, Bill, at the twin's request, hovered a sprig of Marauding Mistletoe over their father's head. The green leaves began to sparkle. Arthur had only just looked up to see what was hanging there, when the sprig flew off and into the kitchen. A moment later, a loud, energetic voice began yelling.

"IN HERE ARTHUR! SHE'S IN HERE! COME AND KISS HER! MOLLY'S WAITING! HOW 'BOUT A KISS THEN?…"

Arthur stared narrowly at his identical boys as the voice continued. They shrugged sheepishly.

"It won't stop 'till you kiss her dad."

Arthur rolled his eyes silently and stocked off to the kitchen, followed by the grinning group. Harry could barely contain his laughter at Molly Weasley using a broomstick to try and swipe the small plant out of the air. It jumped at dodged every one of her swings.

Her husband placed one hand on her shoulder, and caught the broomstick in the other. He leaned the cleaning instrument against the table, then turned to the still flustering Molly, dipped her slightly and gave her a very passionate kiss.

The Mistletoe exploded in a shower of green and red confetti, showering down on the happy couple. Those in observance applauded.

Molly seemed to be a little dazed when Arthur first released her. Then she realized that they'd had an audience. She began hastily straightening her robes.

"Really, Arthur! The children…"

"Well, isn't that how we all got started," Charlie asked.

"OUT! All of you! Except you two!" She said, pointing at the twins. They had been trying to make a quiet exit amongst all of the laughter.

**hpHPhp**

Christmas morning found Harry feeling somewhat out of his skin. He sat quietly on the sofa between Ron and George as the pile of coloured (and often animated) paper grew steadily higher. There were three puffy packages on Harry's lap and a few more of assorted sizes at his feet, but he had yet to open a single one. He was simply watching.

This was a family.

Fred was sitting on the floor wearing a crown of colourful wrapping ribbons that Ginny had placed there over a quarter of an hour earlier. He knew it was there as he kept pushing one of the ends out of his eye, but did not seem to have any motivation to fully remove the silly thing. Bill was likewise seated on the floor, but he had slumped sideways, his back against a different sofa, his head was resting partially on his mother's lap. They were both admiring the pocket watch he'd gotten from his girlfriend, Fleur. Charlie and Mr. Weasley were speaking by the hearth, the former wearing a new fire-resistant cloak that was black with a silver trim that seemed to flow across it almost like water. Ginny was laying on the floor cooing over the small black kitten Bill had given her as he, Tickles, attempted to make war on Georges' toes.

Everyone was at various stages of parcel opening. They were all talking in different groups of conversation.

It was perfectly normal. Perfectly alien. It was just what Harry thought a family should be. It was at the same time, extremely pleasant and extremely painful for him, and he found himself unable to watch anymore.

Harry's eyes had only been closed a few moments when he felt himself being whacked quite soundly on the back.

"Aversion to presents, Harry?" George asked. "They won't bite-- well-- maybe this one…" he said, gingerly moving a playing-card sized gift away from Harry's knee.

Harry grinned and forced himself to put away whatever conflict he was feeling for another time. He tore into the presents adding his paper to the growing sea on the living room floor.

Each of the Weasley's had gotten Harry some form of gift, for which he found himself eternally grateful that he'd followed his impulse and done the same for them. He'd been worried that they would see the gifts as 'too much', but he couldn't find a way to tell them more what their kindness had meant to him over the years. The words didn't seem to be enough anymore.

"One more Harry," Mr. Weasley said sometime later. The Weasley patriarch handed Harry a thin rectangular box. He accepted it and looked up to find all the Weasleys watching him expectantly.

"From all of us dear," Mrs. Weasley said. Harry looked around the room once, then pulled the purple ribbon from the box. He lifted the lid.

He didn't understand what he was seeing straight away.

A golden arrow, he thought. With… oh, that's my name written there... Why would they give me an-- oh-- Oh!

Harry looked up again, green eyes impossibly wide. It was a hand for the Weasley Family Grandfather Clock.

"This-- you didn't-- I--"

"Good grasp of the language, there Har. Ow!" Tickles had jumped up onto Fred's shoulder and was now clawing at his ribbon-hat.

"I--I can't accept this," Harry said in disbelief. "I mean, I'm grateful-- you don't know how much-- but, I'm not… I'm not really…"

"You're as good as," Bill said.

Harry looked down at the object that he held in both hands. It felt unnaturally heavy at that moment.

"Come Harry," Mr. Weasley said after a moment. "Let's put that where it belongs."

"About _TIME_," Charlie piped up and was promptly struck by four large throw pillows.

Harry watched as Mr. Weasley did the honours . For something so significant, it was a rather simple process. he removed the centred knob and fitted in Harry's 'arrow'. The knob was re-set and Mr. Weasley gave it a tap with his wand. The new hand shuttered then rose to join eight others pointing towards the word: "HOME".

He felt Mrs. Weasley's warm embrace from behind him and thought that it might be his undoing. But his eyes travelled to the clock-face again, and somehow, for that moment, everything was alright.

**hpHPhp**

The tenth hand on the Weasley clock moved from "TRAVELLING" to "HOME", several hours later. There was some awkwardness at first when the third Weasley son came to the door. Percy had knocked first which caused Mrs. Weasley to wring her hands as her husband greeted their son. Then Molly had all out fussing over him. He didn't write enough. He was too thin. He was too pale.

Well, Harry quietly had to agree with the lat two. Percy decidedly did not look well. In addition to his size and shade, there were sleepless circles beneath his eyes and the eyes themselves were tinted pink behind his glasses. And if he wasn't mistaken, there was a fading bruise on the right side of his chin.

"Mum, it's winter and we're red-heads. Of course he's a little off," Charlie said.

"More than a little," Harry muttered to Ron. "He looks dead on his feet."

"S'not that bad," he commented quietly.

Harry gave his friend an incredulous look, which Ron missed as he was watching sidle up behind the newest addition to their Christmas celebration. As they were each reaching out to put… something… onto their brother, Percy suddenly, without any previous indication that he'd known they were there, pointed his wand over his shoulder and calmly said, "Rictusempra Dysendi."

Gred and Forge both hit the floor in heaps of literally uncontrollable laughter. The rest of the Weasley siblings joined in of their own accord. Mr. Weasley rolled his eyes and cancelled the spell. At first it seemed as though it hadn't worked, but then they realized that the twins were also laughing on their own. They could always be counted on to take a prank as well as they gave.

Through the event, Percy had managed a small smile, but little else.

How could Ron think…? But his musings fell short as he looked at Percy again.

The scholarly young man now looked fine. The thinness, the markings… gone.

Harry narrowed his eyes. he was certain he hadn't imagined it.. Likewise, the light in the room was rather constant; it hadn't been a trick of the shadows.

Percy made his way over to them and wished them a Happy Christmas. Harry extended his hand to return the greeting. When Percy shook his hand, he felt it-- a spell he was rather familiar with on an unfortunate level. Glamour. Percy was hiding his appearance from his family.

The two wizards had stopped shaking but were still holding each other's hands. Harry looked intently at Percy's face. He could almost make out-- yes-- there. He could see the circles beneath Percy's eyes. Those bespectacled eyes looking back at him narrowed. Percy withdrew his hand.

Must not want them to worry, Harry thought. After all, Mrs. Weasley was fretting over him enough as it was. He was certain that she wasn't seeing past the glamour, but for Mrs. Weasley, whenever her children (or Harry himself, he was happy to find) were away from her for an extended length of time, they were always too thin and too pale for her liking.

"What was that about?" Ron asked him.

Harry shrugged and sat down to their halted chess game.

**hpHPhp**

Glamours and motherly concern aside, a couple of days later, Mr. Weasley, while experimenting with a Muggle chandelier, commented to Harry, Ron and Bill (who were holding the bright fixture up without magic) that he was becoming even more concerned with Percy than he had normally been since the young man had moved out.

Percy had been unusually quiet for the rest of is visit. He was extremely reserved and not in his formerly haughty manner. He observed them all, spoke only when necessary and then seemed to say as little as possible. The details of his work and private time had been relegated to a series of 'fine's and 'alright's. The most he'd said at one time was when Mrs. Weasley had asked about Penelope Clearwater. He'd gone rather red, then told them that they'd broken up and that he was admit that he did not wish to discuss it.

He'd left, not long after dinner, leaving something of a damper on the their festivities.

…Until George threw a handful of their Fulminating Festive Fireworks (patent pending) into the hearth.

Amongst a gaggle of colourful mini explosions, eight different Christmas carols began loudly singing, which definitely altered the mood in the burrow.

Still, Mr. Weasley was worried and felt it best to pay his son a visit.

Harry felt this was an opportunity he could use and asked Mr. Weasley to tag along with him to Diagon Alley, owing that he needed to pay a visit to Gringotts. When both Weasley parents suggested Arthur go for him, he told them that he wasn't in need of money, but that Sirius had suggested that some of his family "things" might be contained in there, and with it being the holidays and all…

It wasn't a complete lie, and the Weasleys seemed to understand his "need for familial connection" at that time of year. Still, they had their concerns with regards to his safety. With a smile, Harry reminded them that they _were_ after all talking about Gringotts. That seemed to appease them and the next day around noon, Harry found himself speeding in a railed car, miles beneath the streets of London.

They arrived at Vault 687 and the Goblin who opened it reminded Harry that he would be back for him in precisely thirty minutes. The Gringotts Goblins did not like Wizards hanging around in their bank, regardless of the fact that it was the Wizard's on vault and whatever fortune. he closed (and to Harry's brief horror) locked the door in Harry's face. He momentarily wondered how much oxygen was in that vault and how much of that the flickering wall torches used up.

Harry turned and faced his inheritance. He could still scarce believe that these many mounds of gold, silver and bronze all belonged to him. And he was only looking at the first few rows of dunes. he couldn't even _see_ the back of the vault, though that may have had something more to do with the lighting than the depth.

It was another reason that he was glad he'd left Ron back at the burrow. His friend had of course wanted to come with him to help look, but Harry hadn't wanted Ron to see just how wealthy he actually was. He'd only caught a brief glimpse of it before their second year, but if Ron were to step inside… well-- Harry didn't want to spend the rest of the holiday trying to coax his friend out of a self-pitying slump. he could have told Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that he just wanted some time to examine the vault, but he knew that by mentioning his family, they would insist on Ron's staying home, as a matter of privacy. Family inheritance and succession, Harry had learned, was of ultimate importance and ultimate privacy in the Wizarding World.

Harry looked around and sighed. Where to begin? He glanced at his watch. He'd already wasted three minutes just standing there.

Harry stepped forward. He'd only ever taken coins from the first row of many mounds and then left. But there was a narrow path of sorts between the fourth dune of knuts and the fifth dune, which was made up of sickles. For what seemed like several long minutes Harry carefully mad his way along the winding path of coins. He was very careful going. Some of the mounds seemed to be about three times his height and he feared what would happen if ever one of these dunes were to crumble.

"Boy-Who-Lived Smothered By Gold," he mumbled humourlessly. "Ron would have just loved that."

A bit further on, the path seemed to widen and then it opened completely. Harry could now see the back of his vault. And in the several meters of open space before it, dozens of books and drawers and boxes and containers and trinkets and spindly things and bobs.

Harry felt a warm feeling come over him. He had a sudden flashback of the Mirror of Erised and all of the faces looking back at him. These "things" belonged to his family. They belonged to them-- to those faces, or relatives of those faces. Aside from his father's cloak, he'd never owned anything that was just of his family's. The photo album Hagrid had given him was made up of pictures that other people had owned. The Marauder's Map had been a joint effort between his father and James's friends. But this…

Harry set to work.

Among the boxes and papers and photos, one thing became abundantly clear to Harry: he would have to come back again. There was _so much_ there. He wanted to revel in it. But a slight tingle from his forehead (that had been there since the night before) kept him focussed on the task at hand.

Hermione had given him suggestion as to what to look for… Amulets, Talismans (which did not really help as Amulets and Talismans could be made of practically anything), parchments of spells, books, anything that looked especially odd. She'd told him to trust his feelings. If his bloodline was the key…

He found three photo albums dated within the last thirty years and decided to take them with him, just because he wanted them.. As well as a small box of rings and amulets, some of which felt as though they had some very strong magic weaved into them. With these, he started a small pile of things he would take with him on this visit.

There was a flat chest which, though it didn't appear to have a lock, it would not open. He pulled out his wand, intending to try an unlocking spell, the second his wand touched the doors slid open.

Wands.

At over a hundred strong, he was sure.

All with little tags that had little names written on them.

There seemed to be a chronology to them so Harry followed along. At the end he saw them: Five wands. Two with the tag: L. Potter (one of which was about 10 inches and appeared to be made of willow) and three with the name: J. Potter (one being about 11 inches. Pliable. Excellent for transfiguration if he remembered correctly.) He picked up his parents' first wands with nervous attention. He had hopped that there would be something there-- some kind of spark or feeling as he had had when first holding his own instrument. But these felt no different than if he were holding Ron or Hermione wands. Except of course for the knowledge that his mum and dad had once held these very items in their own hands. He picked up his father's second one; even gave it a wave. But again, there was nothing. With the last two, Harry hesitated. Both wands, though light coloured in wood, were scorched from the handles up, as though the hands which had held them, had expended a massive amount of heat or energy. He was certain that those were the wands they'd been holding when they died.

Tentatively, very tentatively, he reached out to touch one. A sudden pressure grew up behind Harry's scar. Not unbearable, but enough for Harry to pull his hand away. The pressure faded immediately. Harry rubbed his scar and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found he was looking at the other end of the chronology at an extremely old looking wand. The scrip on the tag was likewise very old:

G. Gryffindor

Harry's eyes widened. _Surely_, if _anything_ in here…

With two hands he carefully brought the wand down from it's surprisingly unremarkable place of distinction. All fingers and toes crossed, Harry gave it a wave.

Nothing happened.

He waved it again.

The same result.

"Accio," he said, pointing the wand a small silver-handled Athame that was lying on a desk. It didn't even wobble. Harry looked at the piece of wood. Was this even a wand? He couldn't feel any magic coming from it. It just felt like a piece of carved wood.

Harry looked at the other wands. No other G. Gryffindors immediately caught his eye. He looked at his watch. He only had ten minutes left and a portion of that would need to be spent travelling back to the vault door. There wasn't time for him to go randomly swishing wands and he wasn't feeling particularly drawn to any others anyway. He replaced G. Gryffindor's "wand" and closed the chest.

Disappointment began to set in. As far as a "weapon" was concerned, this trip had apparently been a waste. He looked down at his small pile of "take-always". A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as his eyes fell on two books. They were entitled "_Marauders' Mischievous Misdoing, Volume 4 and 6_." Harry couldn't wait to show those to Sirius. Aside from the titles on the two books, there were apparently random letters scattered about the covers. He picked up and flipped open the cover of _Volume 4_. An ear piercing Claxton rang out surprising Harry so badly that he stumbled into short mound of galleons, dislodging the pile. Harry shut the book, but the din continued. The letters and title on the cover were flashing brightly.

"Er…" Harry pulled out his wand and tapped the cover." I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!" he yelled.

The wail continued.

He looked at the flashing letters.

"Wait--"

Harry prodded the cover with his wand again, this time with more precession and in a specific order.

M--W--P--P

There was an echoing silence. The front cover flipped open on its own and he was met with a scrawling handwriting.

Harry rolled his eyes, flipped the cover closed and dropped it on his "take-away" pile. He was moving to push himself back up when his hand bumped against something much larger than the galleons surrounding it.

A large book.

The cover was made of some sort of extremely soft leather in the deepest red, with thousands of tiny gold slivers all over it. Harry picked it up and required two hands to do so.

"No title," he observed and turned the book over. There was nothing written on the spine or on the back either. He turned it back to the front, intending to figure out how to get inside without a repeat of the _Marauders' Mischievous Misdoing_ incident, but instead he gave a yell, dropped the book and jumped away from it.

The golden slivers had moved. Rather than the random scatter that had been, they now formed a face… a face, which was looking up at him with cautioned curiosity. The face looked familiar. It was a man with a long hair, striking solid features.

Harry moved closer. The face raised an eyebrow. Then in a blink it vanished. The slivers were moving flowingly. This time they began to form words.

**ARE YOU A REGULUS?**

"Regulus?" Harry wondered out loud. The letters changed.

**Yes. Are you of the Regulus line? Of my line?**

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Wait… Can you hear me?"

**A BIT TICKLE-BRAINED ARE YOU?**

**YES, I CAN HEAR YOU BOY.**

**I WOULD LIKE AN ANSWER, IF YOU PLEASE.**

"Er… well, my name is Harry Potter. I think… I think some of my ancestors were named "Regulus"," he answered, wishing he'd paid closer attention to the names on his family tree. "Wait, did you say _your_ line?"

The face re-appeared and nodded.

"Oh, Merlin…" Harry finally recognized the face. "You're Godric Gryffindor!"

The face smiled proudly and nodded.

Harry flopped down and pulled the tome onto his lap.

"I--I am related-- er-- of your line, but as I've said, my name is Potter, and this line's been Potter for the last four generations at least, I think. How long have you been down here?"

The words appeared again.

**HERE IN DARKNESS, I DO NOT KNOW. THE LAST OF**

**OUR LINE WITH WHOM I COMMUNICATED WAS LETO**

**REGULUS. HE WAS 173 YEARS ON THIS EARTH WHEN**

**HE DIED. I BELIEVE THAT WAS THE YEAR OF OUR**

**LORD, 1745.**

"Wow. You've been in here over 250 years!"

The face re-appeared looking surprised.

**I HAD NOT REALIZED SUCH TIME HAD PASSED.**

**TIME MEANS VERY LITTLE FOR ONE SUCH AS I.**

"Er…" Harry began. "What are you, exactly? A journal?" he asked, memories of his second year flooding back.

**I WOULD HVE YOUR BLOOD FIRST, IF YOU PLEASE.**

"What!"

**WHATEVER KNOWLEDGE OR LACK THEREOF**

**CONTAINED WITHIN ME BELONGS TO _MY_ LINE AND _MY_**

**LINE ALONE. THOUGH YOU SEEM A STOUT HEARTED**

**LAD, I MUST BE CERTAIN.**

**A SINGLE DROP WILL DO.**

Harry looked cautiously at the face.

"Blood can be used as a powerful weapon," Harry said.

The face gave him a knowing look before dissipating.

**SO CAN I**

**IN THE _PROPER_ SET OF HANDS.**

Harry thought for a minute.

'Play or be played.' 'Use your blood.' Was this what they had meant?

Mr. Weasley had said never to trust anything that could think for itself if you couldn't see where it kept its brain. Did the image of Godric's face count?

Hermione had told him to trust himself. To trust his feelings…

He looked around. The Athame was still sitting on the desk. He brought the book over to it and set it down. Harry picked up the Athame, then looked Godric's patiently waiting image. This felt right. He pricked a small hole in his finger, then placed the finger, with its small bubble of blood, on the corner of the cover, where Godric's shoulder began.

The entire book shimmered gold, the slivers spinning in circles.

Godric's face reappeared once again, with its proud smile.

**HARRY POTTER OF THE LINE AND HOUSE OF GRYFFINDOR.**

**I AM GODRIC'S GRIMORUM.**

**hpHPhp**

_--though you may never truly understand my choice (I already know you disapprove) I hope that you will someday be able to--_

"Weasley."

Percy looked up from his writing.

Marcus Schwepper stood next to his desk. He held out a small scroll of parchment.

"Is this what I think it is?" Percy asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Schwepper gave a curt nod.

"Tell him yes," Percy told the man.

Another nod. Schwepper looked down at the parchment. Percy followed his eyes.

"Family business," he said firmly.

"Really," Schwepper doled suspiciously. "Your father paid you a visit here a few days back didn't he?

"Is there a point in there somewhere? You know perfectly well, my family is the only reason I'm doing this. You can drop the pathetic attempt at intimidation. You're nothing to me."

"The bookworm has teeth," Schwepper said. He smirked, turned on his heel and walked away from the ginger-haired man.

Percy watched him go, before picking up his quill again to continue with what he'd been writing.

_--forgive me--_

**hpHPhp**

The holidays were over both too fast and too slowly for Harry's liking.

He had never had a more wonderful Christmas break. Ron and he poured over the pictures of his family from the album. He was thrilled to see his face and likeness in others that had come before him. Dumbledore had allowed Sirius to leave the castle for a short time on New Years day to visit. Remus came with him and they, and the Weasley children spent the entire visit reliving the pranks and adventures listed in Volumes 4 and 6 of the _Marauders' Mischievous Misdoings._ Remus said that Volumes 2 and 5 were in his family vault and Volumes 1, 3, and 7 were in the Black family vault. Peter was not around enough at the end of their seventh year to be given one.

Harry had showed them the box of rings, amulets, books and parchment for inspection. They'd gone over everything Harry had showed them, but nothing seemed of significant use.

Hermione, once they'd gotten back to Hogwarts, was likewise disappointed, but suggested that they keep studying them.

Harry agreed, if only to appease his own mind.

He never told his closest friends and godfather what else he had found in the vault.

…There was someone he wanted to speak to first.

**hpHPhp**

Snape placed his quill on his desk and stood to observe the class. The students would be at a precarious moment in their brewing and he needed to keep an eye on them, especially as it was their first class back since the winter break.

While the other students, even Crabbe and Goyle were studiously concentrating on this serious part of their potion, Potter's eyes kept flicking between Severus and Malfoy. Snape narrowed his eyes curiously, then widened as the boy caught his eye and held it. He picked up a handful of Hyacinth leaves and held them purposefully over his cauldron. Any more than two leaves would cause a volatile reaction. Potter looked to Malfoy again - to him - to the leaves, then back to Severus. Then as he mouthed the word "Oops", and before Severus could stop him, Harry let the leaves fall.

The result was instantaneous. The blue coloured potion turned bright pink, bubbled to the top of the cauldron and then shot in a straight column to the ceiling. It crawled along above the class until the entire ceiling was covered in lumpy pink foam.

Snape clenched his fists and spoke through gritted teeth. "Potter! Detention!"

He aimed his wand at the lumpy concoction and cast an "Imobulous" charm on it. Unless Potter had a very good reason for doing what he did, the boy would be on a ladder cleaning it without magic until dawn.

"The rest of you should be nearly finished. I expect there will be _no further interruptions_!"

And there were not. Even the Slytherins knew when not to press him.

Fifteen minutes later the fifth years filed out of the room, all except Potter. Once the hallway was clear, Snape magically closed and warded the door.

"I assume there was a reason for this," he said, flicking his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Yes, sir," he replied. "I wanted to show you something, but I didn't think it could wait until Saturday."

Snape sat down behind his desk and indicated that Harry should continue. Harry picked up his schoolbag and brought it to the desk. He opened it and pulled out a large red tome with gold coloured sprinkles all over the cover.

"I found this in my family vault over the holidays," he said, placing it before Snape.

Snape looked to the spine; there was no title there, nor was there any on the cover.

"And this is…?"

"Godric's Grimorum."

"Grimorum?" Snape said sitting straighter.

Years ago, powerful Witches and Wizards began keeping Grimoires-- books detailing their magical discoveries and advances that were sometimes referred to as a Book of Shadows. It was a way of passing down their knowledge and experience… most importantly what _not_ to do. As time moved on, the most powerful descendent would inherit the book and add to it. Grimorums were similar, however, they were only created and added to by the original author… Only the most powerful magics were contained within them. And only the most powerful magics could contain them. There were not many Grimorums left in the world. If the Witch or Wizard who created it were not powerful enough, the magic would consume the book, destroying it completely. Both books always remained within the family and were almost never shown to outsiders… And he doubted if anyone had even seen a Grimorum in the last two centuries… But he was being shown one now.

"Potter… I know that there are certain areas lacking in your knowledge of Wizarding Culture due to your upbringing, but surly Ms. Granger has--"

"Hermione doesn't know about it. Neither does Ron. I wanted to get your opinion before I told anyone about it."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Have you not even mentioned this find to the Headmaster?"

Harry developed a look on his face that told Snape that the thought hadn't even occurred to the boy. Snape had the sudden urge to throw something very heavy at Albus. He closed his eyes.

"So be it," he muttered.

"Sir?"

"Nothing, Potter, Never mind," he said, rubbing his eyes. "First of all, tell me how you know this is a Grimorum?"

Potter rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Well… Er… _He_ told me," he said, indicating the book.

Snape looked down at the unremarkable cover.

"I take it something is supposed to happen here?"

Potter turned the book towards himself. "Er… Godric?"

Snape barely managed to maintain his neutral expression as the gold flecks on the cover began to move and form a face. An animated face. The eyes turned from Harry's face, to his own. Then face disappeared as the flakes moved again to form words.

**THIS ONE DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE OF MY LINE.**

"No, he isn't," Harry spoke to the book. "He's my teacher. A teacher here at Hogwarts. Professor Severus Snape. He's the head of Slytherin House."

**AND YOU TRUST A TEACHER WITH MY KNOWLEDGE?**

"Well, he's been training me outside class, too. Special training."

**A TRUSTED MENTOR, THEN?**

Harry looked up at Snape.

"Yeah," he said back to the book. Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

**VERY WELL.**

The face reappeared on the cover and watched the two wizards.

"Well, that seems to have answered my question," Snape said wryly. "Do you perhaps know why his words are appearing in modern day English?"

"Something about my blood, he said:" Harry told him, then explained how he had come to discover the book.

"I found a… I don't know what to call it. It's the last project Godric worked on, as far as I can tell." Harry opened the book and flipped through the heavy pages. He stopped somewhere a little over three quarters on. "He continues his notes on other things after this, but this is his last concoction."

Snape looked over the page.

COGNATUS. PNEUM. ANIMUS. 

"Blood, Breath, Soul," he translated.

"What has been nagging at me is that it reminds me of the spell Voldemort used to come back. He used my blood, Wormtail's flesh, and his father's bone. I know this is not the same thing but… It just sticks with me. But there's no explanation of what it specifically does."

"And 'Godric' has been of no help?"

Gold sparkled flakes appeared at the top of the page.

**I ONLY KNOW WHAT IS IN THIS BOOK AND WHAT HAS BEEN**

**TOLD SPEFICALLY TO ME.**

**GODRIC DID NOT WISH THIS SPELL TO FALL INTO THE WRONG HANDS. **

**THEREFORE,HE ONLY LEFT ENOUGH ONLY LEFT ENOUGH INFORMATION**

**FOR THE _RIGHT_ PERSON TO ATTEMPT.**

**THIS IS A PROCESS OF GETTING RID OF THE DARKEST WIZARDS…**

"So does it work?" Harry asked.

**THAT, I DO NOT KNOW.**

The pages flipped over to the final page. The Golden letters followed.

**AS YOU CAN SEE,THE LAST ENTRY IS THATGODRIC WAS GOING**

**TO ATTEMPT THE SPELL THE FOLLOWING DAY.**

**HE NEVER WROTE IN THIS CHRONICLE AGAIN.**

**THIS TOME HAS BEEN POSSESSED THREE TIMES SINCE HIS DEMISE**

**NONE OF THOSE DECENDENTS SEEMED TO HAVE ANY INTEREST **

**IN THE SPELL.**

"Perhaps there were no dark wizards of note during their various times," Snape pondered.

**PERHAPS.**

**INMY TIME IT WAS MORDRAR, THE BASTARD DECENDANT OF MRODRED.**

**HE WAS A GREAT THREAT, AND I FEARED THAT HE WOULD BE **

**THE END OF ALL WE KNEW.**

**THE SPELL WAS CREATED FOR HIM.**

**HE HAD TAKEN STEPS AND WAS NEAR IMMORTAL WHEN GODRIC HAD**

**FINISHED THIS PROCESS.**

"And here we are experiencing a similar problem," Snape said.

**AS FAR AS GODRIC'S DECENDANTS WERE ABLE TO DECERN,**

**THIS ENTRY WAS MADE NOT LONG BEFORE HE DIED.**

**PERHAPS SOMETHING WENT WRONG.**

Snape nodded thoughtfully.

"Mr. Potter… would you be willing to leave this with me for a couple of days. You must feel perfectly comfortable to refuse me on this."

"No. I mean, yes, you can have it. I think I've done all I can with it on my own," he said.

Snape nodded. "It will be cared for diligently, I assure you."

Harry grinned. "I trust you Professor. I wouldn't be here otherwise." He turned to the book. "Godric, please trust Professor Snape as you would me. He's helping me with all of this."

**YOU SEEM VERY CERTAIN.**

Harry nodded.

"I've decided to play my own game now. And I'm choosing the players."

**hpHPhp**

The following Thursday morning, Harry was just piling a second helping of bacon onto his plate when Professor McGonagall strode down the isle towards him.

"Potter," she said crisply, "You will report to my office at the start of first period. Professor Flitwick has been made aware of your delay."

And then she strode off before Harry could even attempt a question.

"What did you do?" Hermione hissed.

"Nothing," Harry said. He honestly hadn't a clue. The only thing he'd done close to being untoward was showing Snape Godric's Grimorum and he didn't think the Professor would have shard that information with anyone, after stating that he wouldn't.

"She seemed kind of mad-- but like she was holding it in or something," Ron said.

"I haven't _done_ anything," Harry stressed.

Hermione still had a suspicious look on her face. Harry rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.

A quarter of an hour later he was seating himself across from his Head of House. She stared at him intently for a moment before her lips lost some of their thinness. She sighed.

"Relax, Potter. You're not in any trouble. None that I'm currently aware of anyway," she said, the side of her mouth curling slightly in humour.

Harry's posture eased slightly.

McGonagall cleared her throat.

Some unpleasantness I'm afraid up ahead, Potter-- er-- Harry," she said, her tone turning grim.

"More unpleasant than Voldemort?" Harry replied shrewdly. Things usually went more smoothly if you could get McGonagall to smile.

"I suppose that would depend on how you look at it," she said. Harry raised a curious eyebrow before she continued.

"We've received a notice by owl. The Dursleys' trial will begin on Monday."

TBC…

Latin translations from the "LatinEnglish Dictionary" online.

cognatus : (adj.) related by **blood** (noun) a relative, kinsman.

pneum : **breath**.

animus : courage, vivacity, bravery, will, spirit, **soul**.

A/N: With regard to Regulus: You would not believe how shocked I was to see that name in Order of the Phoenix! Right from the beginning, I'd had that name down as one of Harry's ancestors. Why, well, Sirius is the brightest start in the, so for part of Harry's family, I chose the name of the brightest star in the constellation Leo. After OotP, I'd only briefly considered changing the name. Then I decided, nah! I can still use it.

Grimorum…. Any Gargoyle fans out there? J Yes, I know that the proper word is Grimoire, but I was/am a huge Gargoyles fan and the name Grimorum just sticks in my head and also seems to fit better with the name Godric. Deal with it.

This Vault scene has been in my head literally since I began writing this story, and I'm glad I've finally done with it.

I really wanted to post this before HBP came out. Actually, I wanted to post Chapter 9 too. Ah well. Workin' on it folks! J It's 11:20pm on July 15th, and I've got to get to the bookstore now. I guess I'll post this tomorrow is I'm taking a break from reading, or after I finish the book. (Sooo nervous. I can take anybody dying except Snape and with "Advanced Potions" on the cover of the Adult Version… Oh, it's making me nervous. I also believe that Snape is the HBP and that the clasped hands on the inside flap are Harry and Snape.)

Off to the party!

Enjoy this happy Potter weekend!


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